moiiiomoii 


I  OHIO  111 :0tl I 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


FOR    HONOR'S   SAKE. 


12mo.    Extra  Cloth.    $1.50. 


"  No  one  who  takes  up  this  novel  will  be  likely  to  lay  it  aside  until 
the  denouement  shall  have  been  reached.  It  is  so  far  above  the 
current  fictions  of  the  day,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  read  it." — New 
Orleans  Picayune. 

"  The  story  is  cleverly  told,  romantic  in  incident,  bright  in  dialogue, 
and  graceful  in  style." — Boston  Gazette. 

J.    B.    LlPPlNCOTT   &    Co., 

Publishers,  Philadelphia. 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


BY 

MRS.  B.  SIM   CUNNINGHAM. 


"  Remorse  is  as  the  heart  in  which  it  grows  : 
If  that  be  gentle,  it  drops  balmy  dews 
Of  true  repentance." 

"  Delights  so  full,  if  unalloyed  with  grief, 
Were  ominous." 


"Just  Heaven  instructs  us  with  an  awful  voice 
That  Conscience  rules  us,  e'en  against  our  choice." 

COLERIDGE'S  Remorse. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 
1883. 


•  Copyright,  1882,  by  J.  B.  LlPPINCOTT  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — FATHER  AND  SON .  7 

II.— AMY        .       .•      . 13 

III.— AT  BAY  .               19 

IV. — THE  WHITE  ANGEL 29 

V. — ADRIFT 39 

VI. — CHESWICK 50 

VII.— AN  IDYL 63 

VIII.— TURNED  WEAPONS 71 

IX. — A  LANDMARK         ...        .        .        .  7$ 

X.— IN  HIDING .        .83 

XI.— SANS  PEUR 92 

XII.— "  FIDELIS  AD  URNAM" 98 

XIII. — "JocELiN  OF  BRAKELAND" 103 

XIV. — PERSEPHONE 112 

XV.— "  WITCH  FINGERS" 120 

XVI.— TITHONIUS .132 

XVII.— "  CLARCHEN" 141 

XVIII.— "  MAIEN-DUFT  !" 159 

XIX.— ARCADIA 168 

XX.— LES  BIEN  SEANCES 175 

XXI. — A  MYSTERY  SOLVED 188 

XXII.— FATALITY 195 

XXIII. — THE  WORLD  WELL  USED 202 

i*  5 


2061866 


CONTENTS. 

PAGK 
XXIV.— "CARPE  DIEM" 2O9 

XXV.— FAREWELL 215 

XXVI.— "  ROSELEIN" 228 

XXVII.—"  HONI  SOIT  QUI    MAL  Y   PENSE"  .  .  .240 

XXVIII.— AN  INVITATION 247 

XXIX.— Cui  BONO? 253 

XXX.— A  GHOST  FROM  THE  PAST  .       .       .        .       .258 

XXXI.— RENUNCIATION 264 

XXXII.— CANCELLED 269 

XXXIII.— AT  LAST! 273 

XXXIV.— "FORGIVE  ME!" 284 

XXXV.— FRUITION 291 


IN    SANCHO    PANZA'S    PIT. 


CHAPTER    I. 

FATHER  AND   SON. 

"  The  sole  succeeder  to  his  wealth  and  fame, 
The  last  remaining  pillar  of  his  house !" 

AYLMER'S  Field. 

THEY  were  alone  in  the  library  at  Cheswick  Hall,  the 
father  sitting  upright  in  an  easy-chair,  the  son  standing 
by  one  of  the  long,  deep-seated  windows  looking  out  into 
the  garden.  The  father  portly  and  disabled  by  gout, — 
that  inevitable  foe  to  your  bon  viveur  all  the  world  over, 
— the  son  tall,  slender,  supple-limbed,  a  worthy  scion  of 
the  old  race  that  had  counted  princes  in  its  line  before 
the  timbers  had  been  seasoned  for  the  fleet  that  bore  Co- 
lumbus to  the  green  shores  of  that  New  Western  World 
where  the  old  hall  reared  its  chimneys  to-day. 

The  father,  contrary  to  long-established  custom,  was 
ignoring  his  post-prandial  nap.  There  were  heavy  lines 
about  his  mouth,  and  a  deep,  lowering  frown  above  his 
brows  that  were  naturally  stern  and  severe. 

Cedric — so  named  after  a  Saxon  progenitor,  for  Robert 
Cheswick  clung  to  the  traditions  of  his  race  with  a  zeal 

7 


g  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

worthy  a  better  cause — stood  erect,  his  frank  face 
flushing,  his  eyes  blue  and  open  as  those  of  a  child,  filled 
with  indignation  and  anger.  The  wonderful  resemblance 
between  the  two  was  markedly  traceable  at  that  moment, 
for  anger  brings  out  the  strong  points  of  one's  physiognomy 
as  no  other  passion  does.  In  both  were  the  same  well- 
opened  blue  eyes,  the  straight,  sensitive  nose,  the  finely- 
curved  mouth  and  square,  determined  chin ;  but  where 
the  father's  eyes  were  cold  and  unbelieving,  those  of  the 
son's  were  warm  and  frank,  and  while  the  lines  of  the  older 
face  bespoke  intolerance  and  a  sort  of  resentful  querulous- 
ness,  the  younger  one  was  fresh  and  unworn,  entirely  des- 
titute of  lines,  unless  we  except  that  almost  imperceptible 
curve  between  the  upper  lip  and  the  base  of  the  nose, 
which  Victor  Hugo  assigns  peculiarly  to  feminine  organ- 
izations, but  which,  observation  teaches  us,  is  quite  as 
often  bestowed,  with  the  quality  it  indicates,  upon  those 
of  the  opposite  sex. 

Cedric  looked  out  over  the  garden  paths,  and  as  he 
looked  the  unquiet  fire  in  his  eyes  died  down,  and  a 
dreamy  pleasure  awoke  in  them  instead.  There  was  the 
golden  warmth  of  an  autumn  atmosphere  outside  the 
window,  and  fading  rose-leaves  were  drifted  hither  and 
thither  by  soft,  vagrant  breezes. 

"Rick,  will  you  give  me  your  attention,  sir?" 

Cedric  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  father's  voice,  raised 
from  its  ordinary  pitch. 

"  I  want  the  truth  of  this  disgraceful  report." 

Cedric  hesitated,  his  hand  at  his  throat  as  though  his 
collar  choked  him. 

"If  I  tell  you  anything,  father,  it  will  be  the  truth, 
you  know !" 

The  father  did  not  feel  disposed  to  quarrel  with  the 
spirit  that  dictated  that  answer ;  instead,  the  lines  of  his 


.  FATHER  AND  SON.  g 

face  thinned  a  little,  for  he  felt  a  certain  pride  in  his 
boy's  pride,  inherent  as  he  knew  it  to  be. 

"  It  is  true,  in  part,  what  Jacob  Martin  heard  at  the 
Valley  Farm  sale.  I  did  not  say  I  would  knock  Rabys 
down  if  he  ever  dared  speak  to  me  again,  but — I  fear  I 
shall,  father!" 

His  last  words  rang  with  a  sharp  note  of  defiance. 

"  Listen,  father  !"  for  he  saw  the  portentous  lines  gath- 
ering afresh  beneath  those  heavy  brows :  "  Rabys  Holme 
is  without  honor ;  he  enjoys  your  confidence,  he  influences 
you  to  indulge  him,  but  he  is  without  honor.  The 
smallest  stable-boy  on  the  place  could  tell  you  that ; 
though  God  knows  I  would  be  the  last  to  say  it,  only 
that  my  conduct  needs  some  justification." 

Whether  it  was  that  Mr.  Cheswick  resented  the  sudden 
manhood  of  this  dreamy-eyed  boy,  who  until  now  had 
never  dared  question  his  lightest  command,  or  whether 
Cedric  had  unwittingly  pierced  a  joint  of  his  armor  of 
impassability  it  is  impossible  to  determine,  but  certain 
it  is  that  he  grew  bitterly,  unreasonably  angry.  The  lad 
bore  it  quietly,  that  wild,  menacing  storm  of  words  that 
he  had  braved  a  few  times  in  his  life  before,  for  as  little 
apparent  reason,  looking  over  the  garden-walks,  and  won- 
dering drearily  if  many  sons  had  known  so  little  fatherly 
justice  as  he;  as  for  love,  he  had  long  ago  ceased  to  hope 
for  that  from  his  father. 

"And  pray,  my  pseudo-Galahad,  my  Quixote  of  the 
thirty  wind-mills,  who  is  this  Dulcinea  whose  wrongs  you 
have  chosen  to  redress?" 

The  blue  veins  stood  out  like  cords  on  Cedric's  temples, 
for  he  had  all  his  father's  passionate  sense  of  what  was 
due  him. 

"  I  think  her  wrongs  should  be  as  much  to  you  as  they 
are  to  me,  father, — my  cousin  Amy's  !" 


10  Iff  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

The  old  man's  eyes  fell  for  an  instant  before  the  keen 
scorn  of  his  son's  glance;  but  only  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  rose  from  his  chair  and  took  a  step  towards  him,  con- 
fronting him  with  a  face  purpled  by  rage. 

"Toasted  her,  eh?  and  for  that  you  make  a  fool  of 
yourself,  and  get  your  name  bandied  all  over  the  country. 
Now,  sir,  listen  to  me  !  You'll  do  the  apologizing,  do  you 
hear?  You,  instead  of  Rabys  Holme!" 

"  You  are  surely  not  in  earnest,  father?" 

But  as  he  spoke  all  the  ruddy,  healthful  tinting  died 
out  of  his  face. 

"Disobey  me,  sir,  and  see  !" 

A  silence  reigned  in  the  wide,  lofty  room. 

The  curtains  swayed  fitfully  in  the  soft  air  floating  in 
from  the  open  windows.  What  a  superb  old  room  it 
was  !  every  nook  and  cranny  filled  with  books,  and  above 
the  mantel  a  quiet  golden  landscape  of  Lorraine's  charm- 
ing one,  with  its  beauty  and  truth.  From  his  childhood 
Cedric  had  lived  his  happiest  hours  there,  dreaming  over 
some  Minnesinger  ballad  in  the  broad,  low  window-seat, 
or  searching  the  musty  chronicles  on  the  lower  library 
shelves  for  the  traditions  of  his  ancestors,  and  later  the 
loveliest  hopes  had  come  to  him  there,  the  fairest  antici- 
pations that  had  ever  visited  the  heart  of  youth. 

"  I  cannot  do  it,  father,"  he  said  at  last,  turning  from 
the  window  towards  the  easy-chair  where  Mr.  Cheswick 
sat  rubbing  his  lame  foot.  "I  cannot  do  it,  and  you 
would  not  respect  me  if  I  did.  Wait ;  hear  me  out, 
father, — I  claim  the  privilege  to  judge  for  myself  for  the 
first  time  to-day.  You  offered  us — Rabys  and  me — the 
career  we  chose.  There  are  reasons  why  I  would  prefer 
life  at  home,  but  Rabys  has  chosen  to  stay ;  he  has  preju- 
diced you,  influenced  you,  usurped  my  place  in  your  life, 
as  I  doubt  not  in  your  heart,  since  you  first  brought  him 


FATHER  AND  SON.  H 

here  a  little  fellow  in  blouses.  I  suppose  it  will  be  so 
always,  but  I  do  not  choose  to  submit  to  it  any  longer. 
I  am  not  a  stone,  that  I  can  bear  to  see  a  stranger  close 
my  own  father's  heart  against  me;  so  I  choose  my  career 
abroad." 

There  was  an  appeal  in  the  wide  blue  eyes  of  the  lad, 
from  which  his  father  shrank  as  from  the  prick  of  a  sharp 
sword-point.  Just  such  mute,  patient  pain  had  looked 
out  from  other  eyes  long  years  ago, — eyes  that  had  been 
mere  dust  for  many  years,  but  that  lived  in  his  memory, 
and  looked  at  him  every  day  from  the  proud  fair  face  of 
his  boy. 

"A  career  abroad  !"  he  echoed,  with  a  short,  mock- 
ing laugh,  crushing  the  persistent  memory,  and  harden- 
ing his  heart  anew.  "I  should  like  to  understand  how 
much  of  a  career  you  expect  to  achieve,  unaided  by  my 
money  and  influence." 

It  amused  him  to  try  the  grit  of  the  boy,  the  while  it 
angered  him. 

"A  Cheswick  to  the  backbone!"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  thrill  of  pride. 

But  the  demon  of  imperious  will  that  had  warped  and 
wrecked  his  best  impulses  through  so  many  years  was  not 
to  be  aroused  with  impunity.  It  angered  him  the  while 
it  elated  him  to  find  his  boy  so  dauntless. 

Unreasonable  ?  Yes ;  the  son  who  had  inherited  his 
father's  resolute  strength,  his  physique  and  pride,  owned 
a  right  as  indubitable  to  the  complement  of  will  and  te- 
nacity of  purpose  that  went  along  with  his  father's  nature. 
But  Mr.  Cheswick  was  too  old-fashioned  to  be  analytic. 
He  had  read  Sterne,  it  is  true,  but  not  Swinburne ;  and, 
like  the  bird -haunted  mariner  of  Coleridge's  quaint 
"Rime,"  he  "had  penance  done,  and  penance  more 
would  do"  on  account  of  this  very  lack. 


12  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

The  man  who  is  not  metaphysical  has  to  suffer  a  great 
deal  from  feeling,  and  from  the  dire  mistakes  he  is  apt 
to  perpetrate, — mistakes  which,  like  the  roc's  egg  in  the 
fairy  tale,  are  easy  to  take  down,  but  impossible  to  re- 
place. 

"  You  will  get  no  help  from  me/'  reiterated  his  father. 

"Then  I  go  without  it,  that's  all!  A  man  need  not 
starve  in  the  world  because  God  has  given  him  an  unjust 
father  !"  And  he  leaped  out  of  the  low  window  into  the 
garden  below. 

If  Prince,  the  meek,  mild-eyed  setter  on  the  lawn  out- 
side, whom  he  had  cuffed  and  petted  alternately  for  the 
last  five  years, — if  Prince  had  suddenly  rushed  in  at  the 
window  and  flown  at  his  throat,  Mr.  Cheswick  could  not 
have  experienced  more  complete  surprise  than  he  did. 
That  Cedric  should  defy  him  like  that — Cedric,  who  had 
endured  his  most  ungovernable  fits  of  fury  without  flinch- 
ing,— Cedric,  who  from  his  very  babyhood  had  never 
failed  to  yield  him  the  most  unquestioning  obedience ! 

He  lifted  his  lame  foot  to  a  higher  cushion  with  a 
groan. 

"The  absurd  young  rascal!"  he  muttered.  "Well, 
let  him  go !  He'll  get  sick  of  his  career  abroad  soon 
enough,  and  come  back  willing  to  eat  as  much  humble- 
pie  as  I  choose  to  set  before  him.  Gad  !  but  the  boy 
stuck  to  his  ground !  Ah,  well,  my  fine  fellow,  it  won't 
hurt  you  to  try  your  wings  a  little;  you  can  go  1" 


CHAPTER    II. 

AMY. 

"  If  there  be 
A  devil  in  man  there  is  an  angel  too." 

Sea  Dreams. 

WHEN  Cedric  landed  in  the  tulip-bed  beneath  the 
library  window,  he  was  greeted  by  a  ringing  peal  of 
laughter.  A  young  girl  in  a  wide  garden-hat  ran  down 
the  broad  stone  steps  of  the  portico  to  meet  him.  A  sheet 
of  music  fluttered  in  one  hand,  the  other  she  linked  in  his 
arm  with  the  freedom  of  a  familiar  companion.  This  was 
Amy  Randolph,  his  father's  great-niece  and  ward,  a  very 
young  girl,  with  the  dreamy  fancies  of  a  child  shining  as 
yet  in  her  soft  brown  eyes.  Wonderful  eyes  they  were, 
with  above  them  the  even  brows  that  Spenser  loved,  and 
the  white,  smooth  forehead,  gently  arched  at  the  top,  was 
shadowed  by  masses  of  gold-glinted  brown  hair  that  bore 
the  ruddy  gloss  of  the  chestnut  in  its  abundant  waves. 
The  nose  was  of  the  Grecian  type,  which  means  nothing, 
it  is  true,  but  is  the  nearest  approach  to  perfection  among 
noses.  The  lips  were  fresh  and  rosy,  pensive  when  in  re- 
pose, but  more  often  wearing  the  smiling  curves  of  a  sunny 
nature,  and  the  chin,  slightly  pointed  and  velvety  as  an 
infant's,  bespoke  a  nature  not  easily  satisfied  with  the 
types  of  humanity  one  meets  in  every-day  life. 

Lavater  would  have  delighted  in  the  harmony  of  Amy 
Randolph's  features  and  their  strict  dependence  upon 
each  other  in  their  maintenance  of  the  perfect  character 

2  *3 


,4  IN  SANCHO  PAKZA'S  PIT. 

indicated  thereby,  but  to  the  many,  ignorant  or  careless 
of  physiognomic  combinations,  Mr.  Cheswick's  niece  was 
only  a  very  gentle,  sweet-faced  young  girl,  possessing  a 
graceful  figure  and  remarkably  delicate  features. 

Even  Cedric,  given  to  analyzing  impulse  itself,  with  his 
cool,  wide  gray-blue  eyes,  was  wont  to  accept  the  sense  of 
completeness  he  had  ever  derived  from  Amy's  nearness 
as  the  natural  concomitant  of  his  love  for  her,  or,  perhaps, 
the  reflex  of  that  peculiar  sympathy  which  had  existed 
from  the  first  between  the  two.  I  think  it  makes  our  best 
enjoyment  always  when  we  feel  the  beauty  of  an  object 
before  that  object  has  been  named  beautiful  by  our  phys- 
ical discernment.  It  is  an  old  but  a  very  true  maxim  that 
man  fails  to  appreciate  present  blessings,  but  it  is  untrue 
in  an  equal  degree  that  lack  of  appreciation  detracts  from 
his  enjoyment  thereof.  As  well  say  a  man  does  not  enjoy 
the  freedom  of  health  because  he  fails  to  value  it  rightly. 
Cedric  was  to  learn  later  just  how  much  inspiration  and 
happiness  he  had  drawn  from  Amy's  essentially  harmoni- 
ous nature,  as  the  invalid  looks  back  with  amaze  upon  the 
unacknowledged  blessings  of  strength  and  health  that  had 
once  been  his  own. 

"Truant!"  she  cried,  "I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
a  half-hour,  and  the  shadows  in  our  Academia  growing 
longer  and  darker.  I  don't  think  you  will  find  fault  with 
my  slovenly  execution  this  evening,  it  bears  the  test  of 
the  organ,"  waving  the  printed  score  before  his  eyes. 
They  were  on  the  portico  now ;  beneath  them  stretched 
the  wide  expanse  of  the  pleasure-grounds,  brilliant  with  a 
parti-colored  display  of  geraniums,  dahlias,  and  late- 
blooming  roses.  The  house  was  built  of  gray  stone,  a 
rambling  pile  that  was  at  once  large,  cheerful,  and  con- 
venient. A  broad  drive  swept  past  the  portico,  bordering 
a  circular  parterre,  which  had  been  the  delight  of  Cedric's 


AMY.  15 

heart  from  his  boyhood.  Within  it  grew  great  forest- 
trees,  old-fashioned  smoke-bushes,  deutzias,  and  honey- 
suckles trained  to  conical  lattices  that  shot  past  the  Ches- 
wick  chimneys.  Fronting  the  portico,  beyond  the  parterre 
and  drive,  stretched  an  ample  sodded  plateau  which  Ce- 
dric had  converted  into  a  croquet-ground  since  his  return 
from  college.  There  were  numberless  rustic  seats  dotted 
about  it  here  and  there,  a  wide  gravel  path  bordered  it 
on  three  sides,  and  the  deepest  green^hade  reigned  there 
throughout  all  the  heat  of  summer.  Midway  the  grounds, 
stood  a  mulberry-tree  of  luxuriant  growth,  with  a  bamboo 
lounge  leaning  against  its  lusty  trunk.  A  large  stone 
vase  of  curious  form,  filled  with  shade-loving  begonias 
and  fuschias,  bloomed  like  a  gorgeous  bouquet  among  the 
cool,  green  shadows,  and  in  convenient  proximity  to  the 
bamboo  lounge  stood  a  small  round  table  of  scroll-work, 
painted  green.  It  looked  like  a  fairy's  boudoir,  and 
Cedric,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  let  his  gaze  linger 
longest  there,  while  he  strove  in  vain  to  swallow  the  hard 
knot  swelling  in  his  throat. 

Suddenly  Amy  caught  sight  of  his  face,  white  and  stern, 
with  a  smothered  flame  in  the  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Cedric  !"  she  asked,  in  a  half  frightened  under- 
tone, "what  has  happened?" 

He  turned,  but  avoided  her  gaze. 

"  Where  is  Aunt  Bab  ?"  His  voice  sounded  strange  to 
himself. 

"Aunt  Bab  is  in  the  basement,"  she  answered,  re- 
garding him  with  eyes  grown  wide  and  questioning. 

"  Then  come  to  the  parlor  with  me,  Amy;  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you."  She  followed  him  across  the  hall, 
flecked  with  slanting  beams  of  sunset  light,  and  into  the 
long,  old-fashioned  apartment  known  as  "the  parlor." 

He  threw  himself  into  the  first  chair,  a  choking  in  his 


X6  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

throat  that  nearly  ended  in  a  sob.  The  privileges  of  his 
manhood  were  all  forgotten  now,  poor  lad  ! 

Amy  flung  her  garden-hat  upon  a  chair,  and  went  over 
to  him.  "Oh,  Cedric,  my  dear!"  she  cried,  taking  his 
hand  between  both  her  own,  "  you  are  ill,  I  know,  your 
hands  are  so  cold  !" 

His  hand  closed  on  hers  convulsively.  "  I  am  going 
away  from  Cheswick,  after  all,  Amy;  I  have  reconsidered 
my  decision."  Around  the  fresh  rosy  lips  ran  a  white 
circling  line,  and  the  soft,  peach-like  bloom  drifted  en- 
tirely out  of  her  cheeks. 

"  But  something  is  driving  you  away,  Cedric,  and  I 
should  like  you  to  go  of  your  own  will,"  she  said,  with 
abortive  attempts  to  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  voice. 

He  shook  his  head :  he  did  not  intend  that  she  should 
know.  There  was  a  long  silence  between  them. 

"What  does  it  matter  that  nothing  is  gained  by  your 
confiding  your  trouble  to  me,  so  that  nothing  is  lost?" 
she  asked  at  length,  regarding  the  resolute  sternness  of 
his  face  with  something  like  dismay. 

He  looked  up  in  surprise  that  she  should  have  so  divined 
his  thoughts.  But  he  should  not  have  been  surprised  :  it 
was  not  the  first  time  that  Amy,  with  those  dark-veiled 
eyes,  had  revealed  unto  him  his  thoughts  before  he  had 
well  put  them  into  shape  himself.  "As  to  that,  Amy, 
my  confidence  would  ill  repay  you  for  what  you  would 
have  to  lose  in  temper  and  comfort.  There  is  scarcely 
anything  to  tell.  My  father  is  angry  with  me,  unjustly, 
not  for  the  first  time,  as  you  well  know.  But  his  anger 
will  not  endure,  for  he  is  sure  to  find  out  the  truth.  Jus- 
tice isn't  half  so  blind  as  she  is  painted,"  with  an  attempt 
at  his  old  light  manner.  "  I  will  get  my  rights  some  day. 
But  I  cannot  comply  with  father's  conditions  and  stay 
at  Cheswick,  so  I  am  going  to  try  my  luck  in  the  world.'' 


AMY.  17 

"  But  where  will  you  go?"  she  asked  ;  "  has  your  father 
settled  you  in  any  position  ?"  He  laughed  a  little  mock- 
ingly. 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  that  I  go  under  the 
ban  of  his  displeasure,  and  will  have  my  own  way  to  make. 
But  I  shall  know  always  where  to  find  you  /" 

He  drew  her  to  him,  laying  his  cheek  against  the  soft 
braids  of  her  hair,  with  an  odd  compound  of  pain  and 
joy  in  his  heart.  They  had  grown  very  dear  to  each  other, 
very  close  familiar  friends,  in  this  year  they  had  spent  to- 
gether at  Cheswick,  but  never  before  had  Cedric  held  her 
thus,  and  never,  oh,  never  before  had  her  whole  being 
thrilled  with  such  sweet  pain.  Ah,  they  are  fleet  racers 
through  these  lives  of  ours  !  "  Pain  is  slow  and  pleasure 
fleet,"  sings  the  poet,  but  they  run  not  unfrequently  on 
parallel  tracks.  They  were  in  the  old-fashioned  parlor. 
An  organ  and  a  piano  stood  in  opposite  corners.  On  the 
organ -rack  Bach's  Well-Tempered  Harpsichord  stood 
open  ;  but  it  was  not  from  that  Cedric  drew  such  heavenly 
strains  when,  the  bitterness  of  that  first  moment  with  Amy 
over,  he  went  to  fortify  his  spirit  with  a  draught  from  those 
pure  fountains  of  immortal  youth  and  freshness  that  flow 
through  the  boundless  realm  of  music.  The  tender,  throb- 
bing vox  humana  of  the  organ  spoke  to  the  human  heart 
of  the  girl  as  she  knelt  in  a  bitter  agony  of  unrest  by  the 
chair  he  had  vacated. 

"  Be  still,"  said  the  tender  "  human  voice"  of  the  organ, 
as  the  flexile  fingers  strayed  from  one  theme  to  another, 
interpreting  naught  but  soothing,  hopeful  messages; 
"be  still,  foolish  human  heart,  so  tender  yet  so  selfish. 
Let  your  love,  your  faith,  your  prayers,  aye,  even  your 
tears,  follow  him  whither  he  goes  on  his  unknown  way  ; 
but  give  him  your  smiles  now,  your  comforting,  hopeful 
words.  See  !" — and  the  vox  humana  wailed,  a  very  spirit 

2* 


!8  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

of  flesh  behind  the  gilded  pipes — "  his  heart  aches  not 
one  whit  less  than  yours  that  his  eyes  are  so  dry  !" 

She  went  over  to  his  side,  unselfish  Amy  ;  her  eyes 
were  wet,  it  is  true,  but  the  smiles  were  making  rainbows 
of  the  tears.  "A  robin  singing  with  wet  wings"  in- 
deed ;  but  what  matter  ?  There  was  the  robin's  song  to 
cheer  you,  fearless,  sweet,  and  true,  amid  all  the  rush 
and  whirl  of  pelting  shower  and  swirling  bush. 

"  That  sounds  like  an  answered  prayer,  Cedric,  my 
dear,"  she  said,  in  her  quaint,  serious  way,  with  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder;  "and  I  know  now,  I  feel  that  you  will 
come  back  very  soon." 

Was  it  in  human  heart  not  to  experience  some  sort  of 
courage  from  such  hopeful  smile  and  word  ? 

Cedric  went  out  with  her  into  the  grounds,  tossing  the 
sunny  hair  from  his  brow  with  the  old  careless  gesture. 
It  would  all  come  right ;  he  was  young,  he  was  strong, 
and  who  knew  but  his  father  might  relent,  and  he  need 
not  leave  Amy  and  Cheswick  after  all ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT   BAY. 

"  What  is  it  that  has  been  done? 
O  dawn  of  Eden,  bright  over  earth  and  sky, 
The  fires  of  Hell  broke  out  of  thy  rising  sun, 
The  fires  of  Hell  and  Hate." — Maud. 

IN  the  basement  Aunt  Bab  was  ordering  supper, — a 
middle-aged  maiden  lady,  with  corkscrew  curls  on  either 
side  her  temples,  and  very  keen  black  eyes  peering  at  you 
over  gold-rimmed  spectacles.  Aunt  Bab  was  factotum  at 
Cheswick,  and  there  was  nothing  else  she  enjoyed  so  much. 
She  was  wont  to  say,  "  We  need  beggars  at  Cheswick  to 
make  it  just  what  it  ought  to  be,"  whereupon  Rick  teas- 
ingly  declared  that  Aunt  Bab's  generosity,  upon  analysis, 
resolved  into  the  mere  instinct  of  saving,  since  beggars 
were  only  wanted  at  Cheswick  to  clear  away  the  crusts  that 
the  dogs  could  not  manage.  But  Rick  was  much  too  good- 
hearted  a  fellow  to  have  said  it  had  he  really  thought  it, 
and,  indeed,  there  was  a  tradition  in  the  household  to  the 
effect  that  years  ago  Aunt  Bab  had  caught  a  delinquent 
housemaid  in  the  act  of  stealing,  and  that  when  she  dis- 
charged her  upon  the  score  of  her  dishonesty  she  not  only 
allowed  her  to  carry  her  booty  away  with  her,  but  made  her 
a  present  of  a  very  gay  calico  dress  in  the  bargain.  Aunt 
Bab  was — without  knowing  it,  to  her  credit  be  it  said — 
a  disciple  of  Rauch,  who  says,  "  The  thing  is  not  whether 
a  deed  is  honorable  in  itself,  but  whether  it  agrees  with 
our  own  notions  of  honor." 

19 


20  IN  SANCHO  PANZA-S  PIT. 

In  the  basement  Aunt  Bab  was  ordering  supper, — 

"A  good  mould  of  smearkase,  'Manda,  for  Rick,  you 
know,  and  some  fresh  Maryland  biscuit, — not  too  much 
lard,  mind  ;  and  there's  a  leaf-sausage  boiled  that'll  do 
sliced.  Did  you  scald  the  crocks,  as  I  told  you,  'Manda? 
and  are  the  cows  coming  up  in  the  milk  since  they  were 
turned  out  in  that  new  pasture?" 

"Aunt  Bab  ! — ho,  auntie  !" 

"  It's  Rick ;  step  to  the  door,  'Manda,  and  see  what  he 
wants.  His  clothes  gathered  up,  and  a  lot  of  the  new 
socks  I've  been  knitting?  Why,  what  in  the  land's  up? 
Just  tell  him  I  am  coming,  will  you?" 

In  the  upper  hall  Rick  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps 
awaiting  her. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Rick,  so  suddenly  ?' '  she  asked, 
panting  a  little  for  breath,  for  the  basement  stairs  were 
rather  steep,  and  stooping  to  brush  the  lint  off  her  cash- 
mere skirt. 

"I  scarcely  know  myself,  auntie;  but  it  isn't  sudden. 
I've  been  revolving  the  matter  in  my  mind  for  a  week.'' 

She  could  not  see  his  face  plainly,  down  here  at  the 
remote  end  of  the  long  hall,  but  something  in  his. voice 
struck  her  as  strange.  She  settled  her  spectacles  care- 
fully and  peered  at  him,  through  them  this  time. 

"  That's  odd,  Rick  1"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  it  is  odd,  auntie ;  and  the  oddest  part  of  it  is,  I 
am  not  coming  back."  Then  he  told  her  the  whole 
story,  prefaced  by  a  request  that  she  would  keep  the 
cause  of  his  going  a  secret  from  Amy.  "  She  would  only 
distress  herself  unnecessarily  about  it,"  he  added. 

Miss  Barbara  Cheswick  inherited  also  the  quick  temper 
of  her  race.  She  left  Cedric  standing  at  the  top  of  the 
basement  stairs  and  burst  in  upon  her  brother,  sitting 
portly  and  comfortable  at  his  library-table,  like  a  withered 


AT  BAY.  21 

and  indignant  pythoness.  A  stormy  scene  ensued, — it 
was  not  the  first  time  Miss  Barbara  had  spoken  her  mind 
out  freely  to  her  brother, — but  the  result  was  nil.  The 
father,  inflamed  to  renewed  anger  by  what  he  chose  to 
term  the  obstinacy  of  his  son,  refused  to  yield  one  jot  or 
tittle  of  his  authority. 

Poor  Miss  Bab  !  She  forgot  the  cream  for  the  smear- 
kase ;  she  forgot  the  biscuits  that  awaited  her  careful  in- 
spection. And,  oh  !  how  she  wept,  poor  old  soul,  as  she 
hastily  disemboweled  closets  and  drawers  of  Cedric's 
possessions  and  packed  them  in  the  great  trunk  he  had 
used  at  college !  And  how  many  prayers  she  folded 
away  with  the  pantaloons,  the  waistcoats,  and  coats  ! 
Ah,  Cedric,  with  gentle  Amy's  love  and  Aunt  Bab's 
motherly  affection  following  you  out  across  the  unknown 
fields  whither  you  go,  surely  you  are  sheltered  as  though 
by  an  segis  thrown  round  you  ! 

He  did  not  wait  until  dark  to  leave.  The  station  was 
a  full  mile  away,  and  the  last  passenger-train  passed  at 
eight  o'clock.  He  stopped  at  the  stables  to  bid  good-by 
to  Duffer,  the  horse  he  called  his  own,  a  bright  chestnut 
bay,  that  gave  a  low  whinny  of  delight  when  he  heard 
the  familiar  voice. 

Poor  fellow !  you  will  not  blame  him  when  I  tell  you 
that  in  the  dark  stable-stall  he  leaned  his  head  against  his 
horse's  mane  and  let  the  tears  drop,  one  after  another, 
down  the  glossy  arched  neck.  So  many  glad,  free  days 
they  had  spent  together,  rushing  like  the  wind  along  the 
leafy  lanes  and  breezy  hills  of  his  ancestral  acres ;  so 
many  wild  gallops  they  had  taken  among  the  dark, 
green  solitudes  of  the  pine  cliffs,  unearthing  Reynard 
and  chasing  him  tirelessly  to  cover  ! 

The  sun  was  down  when  he  left  the  stables  and  went 
through  the  yard  to  the  road  that  led  winding  down  to- 


22  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

ward  the  cliffs  and  the  creek.  At  the  gate  marking  the 
terminus  of  the  drive  stood  Amy,  and  the  fitful  red  light 
of  the  sunset  contrasted  sharply  with  the  pallor  of  her 
cheeks. 

He  stopped  in  front  of  her,  looking  up  toward  the  par- 
terre that  had  been  his  pride  since  when  in  pinafores  he 
had  dug  up  the  bulbs  and  mutilated  the  rose-trees,  and 
proven  himself  even  then  a  very  determined  young  scion 
of  the  old  stock,  from  which  he  was  thrust  out  now  for 
no  reason  but  that  a  stranger  had  won  the  heart  of  his 
father  from  him. 

It  was  a  bitter  thought,  for  pride  of  race  was  strong  in 
Cedric's  breast,  and  he  had  always  loved  to  think  that, 
tyrannical  and  imperious  though  his  father  might  be, 
there  was  still  that  inherited  chivalry  in  his  veins  which 
had  ever  been  the  boast  of  the  Cheswicks.  There  were 
chronicles  treasured  upon  the  library  shelves  that  gave  to 
a  Robert  of  Cheswick  in  the  olden  days  the  title  of  Rob- 
ert the  Just,  because  he  had  chosen  to  redress  his  sover- 
eign's wrong  by  sword  and  lusty  blows,  and  later,  when 
travelling  merchantmen  were  waylaid,  crossing  the  river 
that  ran  by  their  demesne,  and  throttled  in  the  cold, 
dark  waves  for  the  sake  of  their  booty,  a  Cheswick  had 
built  the  bridge  over  the  dangerous  ford,  though  he  died 
for  the  deed  by  the  sword  of  his  people. 

Had  the  brave  old  blood  run  out  in  these  late  centuries, 
or  turned  thin  and  watery,  mere  craven  blood  after  all? 
You  will  see  what  a  passionate,  foolish  young  aristocrat 
he  was,  and  how  unfit  for  the  age  he  lived  in.  Well,  he 
was  to  learn  how  purposeless  had  been  his  dreams  and 
his  theories  in  the  world  whither  he  was  going, — in  the 
world  that  asks  not  if  you  have  proud  blood  in  your 
veins,  but — if  you  have  position  ;  that  asks  not  if  you 
are  chivalrous,  but — if  you  are  capable  !  What  recks  it 


AT  BAY, 


23 


to  the  world  that  in  Henry  the  Second's  reign  a  Ches- 
wick  earned  a  chivalrous  pseudonym  by  brave  deeds,  if 
the  Cheswick  of  to-day  possesses  not  the  wherewithal  to 
invite  the  world  to  dinner? 

"Have  you  much  money,  Cedric?"  asked  Amy,  in  a 
hesitant  voice. 

"  Enough  for  a  while,  Amy;  don't  trouble  about  that 
part  of  it,  I  shall  get  along." 

"  But — but — if  you  would  but  take  this,  Cedric,"  push- 
ing a  morocco  pocket-book  through  into  his  hand  where 
it  rested  on  the  gate.  "  Ah,  do  not  look  so  angry,  Cedric ; 
you  might  let  me  lend  it  to  you,  at  least." 

"I  am  not  angry,  Amy;  how  could  you  think  so? 
but  I  do  not  need  your  money.  Keep  it,  darling,  and, 
if  I  do  not  come  back  for  years,  buy  Duffer  a  tombstone 
with  it,  should  he  die  in  the  mean  time.  Come,  sweet- 
heart, cheer  up,"  for  the  tears  were  falling  down  her 
cheeks,  "  I  shall  be  back  before  Duffer  has  time  to  for- 
get me  ;  my  father  will  find  out  the  truth,  and  when  he 
does,  ah,  I  shall  not  be  too  proud  to  come  back  to  Ches- 
wick. I  will  write  to  you  every  week,  and  you  will  answer 
punctually,  I  know.  Don't  you  see,  it  is  only  a  little  trip 
I  am  taking,  after  all.  Good-by,  pet,  keep  up  the  '  ap- 
passionata,'  and,  whatever  you  do,  don't  grieve  after  me. 
This  is  only  one  of  father's  caprices,  which  will  not  sepa- 
rate us  long.  Good-by  !" 

He  kissed  her  over  the  gate,  then  vaulted  into  the 
meadow,  intending  to  take  the  "  cross-cut"  into  the 
woods  that  was  the  nearest  route  to  the  station,  and  as  he 
leaped  the  second  fence  he  turned  and  waved  his  hand  to 
her  gayly. 

An  unselfish  action  brings  with  it  its  own  reward. 
Cedric  had  felt  miserable  enough  when  he  left  Duffer 
in  the  stable  and  walked  out  towards  the  highway,  with 


24  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

the  spacious  grounds  of  his  loved  old  birthplace  looking 
never  so  fair  and  tempting  as  it  did  to  him  then,  its  lineal 
inheritor.  A  hot  anger  was  fomenting  steadily  in  his 
brain  towards  his  father,  unjust  and  tyrannical  as  never 
was  father  before  him  ;  but  at  the  first  glimpse  of  Amy, 
with  her  pale,  patient  face  and  sorrowful  eyes,  love 
usurped  the  place  of  hate  in  his  heart,  and  pity  for  her 
loneliness  impelled  him  to  "  wear  a  brave  face  in  the  front 
of  things."  And  in  doing  so  he  had  not  only  comforted 
her  but  had  lightened  the  burden  for  himself.  What 
more  natural  to  suppose  than  that  his  innocence  would 
vindicate  itself?  The  chivalric  faith  of  the  dead  and  gone 
Cheswicks  blossomed  anew  in  his  being, — the  faith  that 
had  trusted,  vainly  too  often,  to  the  sympathy  of  Man 
and  the  blind  dominion  of  Chance. 

A  piece  of  woodland  lay  between  the  meadow-lands  of 
Cheswick  and  the  county  road,  and  into  it  Cedric 
plunged,  baring  his  head  to  its  grateful  shadows.  From 
a  clearing  in  its  midst  was  to  be  gained  an  unintercepted 
view  of  the  old  gray  stone  house  and  its  spacious  grounds  ; 
from  thence  the  road  declined,  making  a  grade  of  at  least 
twenty  feet  by  the  time  the  creek  and  the  mill  were 
reached,  and  along  the  turnpike  for  miles  the  traveller 
caught  occasional  glimpses  of  the  noble  old  pile  standing 
out  like  a  bas-relief  from  its  background  of  shadowy  blue 
mountains,  or  shining  through  the  night  like  a  beacon 
above  the  dark  pine  cliffs.  Cedric  did  not  stop  in  the 
clearing  for  a  parting  glance  at  Cheswick ;  he  chose 
rather  to  bear  away  with  him  his  last  memory  of  it  with 
Amy,  white  and  patient,  smiling  a  farewell  to  him  over 
the  gate,  striving  for  his  sake,  just  as  he  had  for  hers,  to 
be  hopeful  and  brave.  He  walked  onward  rapidly,  his 
valise  slung  across  his  shoulders.  The  September  evening 
was  warm,  and  he  wiped  his  forehead  more  than  once. 


AT  BAY.  25 

The  dead  leaves  rustled  beneath  his  feet,  off  in  the  shades 
of  the  wood  an  owl  was  hooting,  and  an  axe  was  ringing 
merrily  among  the  green  glades.  Old  Jacob  Martin,  his 
father's  faithful  servitor,  was  at  work  beyond  the  clearing. 
He  noted  the  different  sounds  unconsciously,  never  dream- 
ing how  the  after-years  were  to  be  haunted  ever  by  the 
sound  of  rustling  leaves,  the  dismal  cry  of  an  owl,  the 
metallic  ring  of  a  woodman's  axe  ! 

"  Hav£  you  my  sweetheart  seen?"  rang  out  a  manly 
voice  in  the  distance,  a  voice  clear  as  a  bell  and  resonant 
as  an  orga_n-tone. 

Cedric  Cheswick  uttered  a  low  cry  and  stood  still.  Ah  ! 
is  it  true,  I  wonder,  that  two  angels  walk  with  us  always, 
the  black  and  the  white,  between  whom  are  continual 
wrestlings  and  warfare?  If  so,  then  I  think  the  poor 
white  angel  must  often  grow  weary  of  a  conflict  in  which 
he  so  rarely  finds  himself  a  match  for  his  foe. 

"Have  you  my  sweetheart  seen?"  The  rich,  rolling 
tones  were  as  so  many  devils'  jeers  to  the  pale  youth 
standing  alone  in  the  woodland  path,  with  his  back  to  his 
home  and  his  heritage.  Had  the  chivalric  blood  grown 
craven  ?  the  proud  brave  blood  that  had  won  for  that 
Cheswick  in  mediaeval  ages  the  title  of  The  Just ! 

He  moved  slowly,  as  though  impelled  by  invisible  hands, 
down  the  bridle-path  in  the  direction  of  the  voice. 

"Have  you  my  sweetheart  seen?"  Nearer,  nearer, 
chanting  joyously,  fearlessly  !  In  a  moment  more  a 
young  man  bounded  into  sight,  flinging  his  cap  in  the 
air  and  catching  it,  like  a  boy  let  loose  from  school. 

"  Hey,  Rick  !"  he  cried,  coming  to  a  stand-still  a  few 
feet  in  front  of  him.  "Out  on  another  scout ?  Well," 
with  a  laugh  indescribably  mocking,  "it  is  good  to  know 
that  Achilles  is  vulnerable,  if  only  in  his  heel !" 

But  Cedric  stopped  his  mouth  with  a  blow  that  sent 
3 


26  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

him  reeling  backward,  and  as  he  fell  he  struck  his  temple 
sharply  against  the  jagged,  projecting  root  of  a  tree. 

Look  at  him  as  he  lies  there :  the  wide,  white  brow, 
the  full  eyes  and  long  lashes,  the  lips  curved  into  lines  of 
sweetness  and  candor,  you  would  say.  Physiognomy  for- 
sooth !  we  all  know  that  Macklin  had  the  face  of  a  fiend 
and  the  soul  of  a  saint. 

Cedric  stooped  to  where  he  lay  pallid  as  marble  and 
nearly  as  pulseless.  A  great  horror  stole  upon  him  ;  what 
if  he  were  dead  !  He  hated  him,  it  is  true,  but  he  would 
not  murder  even  the  man  he  hated.  How  still  he  was, 
and  it  was  getting  dark  here  in  the  depths  of  the  wood- 
land. 

"  Rabys !  Rabys  Holme  !"  Cedric  shook  his  arm  and 
shouted  his  name  in  his  ear,  but  the  prostrate  figure  did 
not  stir,  and  the  blood  trickled  in  a  thin  stream  from  his 
wounded  temple.  He  endeavored  vainly  to  stanch  it  with 
his  handkerchief;  he  lifted  the  right  hand  from  its  convul- 
sive clutch  among  the  dead  leaves ;  it  was  cold  as  ice  and 
pulseless.  He  let  it  drop  as  the  horrible  truth  dawned 
upon  his  brain.  Rabys  Holme  had  worked  his  worst 
upon  him, — he  had  made  him  a  murderer  ! 

It  was  a  curious  evidence  of  how  soon  a  sense  of  guilt 
can  make  a  coward  of  the  bravest  when  a  step  behind 
him  struck  such  terror  to  his  brain  that  he  started  to  his 
feet  and  made  a  vain  attempt  to  fly.  But  the  hand  of 
Jacob  Martin  was  upon  his  shoulder,  and  Jacob  Martin's 
eyes  were  questioning  his  own  with  a  scrutiny  and  pene- 
tration that  opened  them  at  once  to  the  very  worst  facts 
of  the  case. 

"My  God!  Mr.  Rick,  have  you  killed  him?"  and  he 
dropped  on  his  knees  by  the  motionless  figure  with  a 
groan. 

"  God  knows,  Jacob  !     He  maddened  me  with  his  in- 


AT  BAY. 


27 


solent  taunts,  and  I  struck  him  a  blow — a  single  blow ! 
Have  I  killed  him,  Jacob?  I  hated  him,  but  I  never 
meant  to  kill  him  !" 

There  was  a  silence  that  seemed  to  Cedric  like  the  si- 
lence of  the  grave  while  Jacob  Martin  peered  between 
the  closed  lids  of  those  great  dark  eyes  and  felt  among 
the  linen  over  his  heart  for  some  faint  pulse-beat  to  dispel 
the  horrible  doubt  that  assailed  him,  but  in  vain  !  There 
was  no  hope  in  his  face  when  he  lifted  it  blanched  and 
gray  to  meet  the  haggard  eyes  of  his  employer's  son. 

"God  forgive  you,  Mr.  Rick, — he  is  dead!"  Cedric 
threw  up  his  arms  with  a  great  cry,  and  at  that  old  Jacob 
Martin  clambered  to  his  feet  and  drew  the  lad  into  the 
deeper  shades  of  the  wood  with  the  most  reckless  haste. 

"  Get  away  with  you,  boy,  get  away.  No,  I  can't  stop 
to  listen ;  some  one  will  come  along  presently,  and  then 
you'll  be  lost.  You  didn't  mean  it,  I  know,  but  what' 11 
that  stand  for  in  law?  you've  killed  him.  I  know  you 
didn't  mean  it.  You  don't  need  to  tell  me.  Go,  my  boy, 
go,  or  it'll  be  too  late!" 

Cedric  lifted  his  haggard  eyes  to  his  old  friend's  face. 
"Go!  where  shall  I  go?  to  the  village,  Jacob,  and  give 
myself  up?  What  need  to  fly?  murder  will  out,  the  very 
stones  will  cry  out  that  I  have  killed  him.  Jacob,  I  will 
not  go!" 

Then  the  old  man  broke  down  and  blubbered  aloud  like 
a  boy  who  has  been  whipped.  "  And  you  will  stay  here 
to  be  hung,  when  you  never  meant  to  harm  him,  and  he 
has  been  your  only  enemy  since  you  left  school !  There 
ain't  a  boy  in  the  stables  but  has  heard  you  have  your  tiffs  ; 
even  if  you  hadn't  done  it  there'd  be  evidence  enough  to 
hang  you,  and  yet  you're  innocent  as  a  babe.  Oh,  my 
boy,  for  justice's  sake,  for  your  family's,  for  Miss  Amy' s 
sake,  go  !" 


28  Iff  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

Ah  !  Jacob  Martin  had  touched  the  right  cord.  He 
leaned  on  the  old  man's  shoulder  and  trembled  in  all  his 
supple,  sinewy  frame,  for  to  fly  looked  to  him  like  dis- 
honor, and  to  stay  was  surely  death  ;  and  "  what  will  not 
a  man  do  for  his  life  ?" 

"Jacob,  will  you  tell  her  the  truth — all?  I  never 
meant  to  harm  him.  Oh,  God  !  I  would  not  kill  a  fly  !" 

"Yes,  yes,  my  boy,  I  will  tell  her  all;  go  quick,  God 
bless  you !  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy,  that  I've  taught  to 
ride  and  row  and  hunt,  that  ever  you'd  'a  come  to  this  ! 
God  keep  you  !  /'//  stand  your  friend ;  no  one  shall  know 
but  tier,"  in  a  low,  impressive  whisper. 

Out  from  the  green  glades  into  which  he  had  so  lately 
gone  with  at  least  no  shadow  of  guilt  on  his  soul,  he  fled 
a  murderer  now.  Oh,  pity  him  all  ye  who  have  passionate 
blood  in  your  veins,  for  henceforth  his  crime  will  darken 
the  brightest  skies  for  him,  will  taint  the  richest  perfumes, 
will  embitter  the  sweetest  draught,  will  stain  his  hands, 
his  life,  his  soul :  "  Cursed  shall  he  be  in  the  house,  and 
cursed  shall  he  be  in  the  field." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  WHITE  ANGEL. 

"  Drink  to  Fortune,  drink  to  Chance, 

While  we  keep  a  little  breath; 
Drink  to  heavy  Ignorance, 

Hob  and  nob  with  brother  Death  !" 

The  Vision  of  Sin. 

CEDRIC,  after  two  days'  travel  by  rail,  found  himself  at 
a  small  village  station,  entirely  ignorant  of  his  where- 
abouts, and  physically  so  reduced  by  mental  suffering 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  drag  his  stumbling 
feet  into  the  clerk's  office  and  make  an  intelligible  in- 
quiry of  the  man  seated  in  the  operator's  chair. 

The  fellow  looked  at  him  with  a  dubious  expression 
that  set  Cedric,  in  dread  of  detection  at  all  moments, 
upon  the  alert  at  once. 

"Don't  know  where  you  are,  sir?  That's  odd! 
Hadn't  you  better  have  studied  your  geography  a  little 
before  you  set  out  ?" 

The  swift  blood  of  the  Cheswicks  fired  his  face  at  that. 

"  If  it  is  any  trouble  to  set  me  straight,  sir,  I  absolve  you 
from  it  immediately,"  he  said,  with  a  haughty  movement 
of  his  head,  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  went  out  into  the  glowing  light  of  the  Sep- 
tember day.  It  was  a  desolate  place  in  its  aspect, — all 
country  stations  are  that,  but  this  was  exceptionally  so. 
Cedric  stood  on  the  long,  narrow  platform,  looking  up 
and  down  the  rails,  with  his  head  burning,  his  limbs  trem- 

3*  29 


30  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

bling,  and  in  his  heart  a  deadly,  sick  loathing  of  him- 
self and  life  that  to  his  healthy,  strong  nature  was  bitter 
as  crime  itself.  Behind  him  stood  the  long,  low  depot 
building,  painted  red-brown,  with  its  smell  of  plaster  and 
guano;  opposite  a  white  house,  encircled  by  dilapidated 
palings,  stared  at  him  with  its  shutterless  windows.  In 
the  yard,  half  filled  with  old  shingles, — the  roof  shone 
obtrusively  with  a  patch  of  new  ones, — two  dirty  children 
pumped  alternately  into  a  battered  tin  bucket,  and  laughed 
in  boisterous  mirth  when  the  water,  plashing  on  the  out- 
side, spattered  their  bare  feet,  standing  sorely  in  need  of 
some  friendly  ablutions.  No  shrubbery,  no  trees  except 
a  few  stunted  pines,  and  he  looked  in  vain  for  the  relief 
of  woodland  verdure  beyond  the  hills,  whither  the  train 
had  just  rushed  madly  out  of  sight. 

Into  the  first  road  Cedric  turned,  not  knowing,  scarcely 
caring,  whither  it  would  lead  him.  He  had  not  tasted 
food  since  he  left  Cheswick.  His  one  thought  had  been 
to  hurry  away  as  fast  as  steam  could  carry  him  from  that 
bosky  dingle  near  his  old  home  where  he  had  yielded 
to  the  temptation  of  Cain  and  shed  his  brother's  blood. 
And  as  he  stumbled  along  the  unfamiliar  road  he  heard, 
as  he  had  heard  every  moment  since  the  glad,  gay  voice 
dropped  into  silence,  the  words  of  the  sweet  German 
love-song  as  Rabys  Holme  had  chanted  it,  never  dream- 
ing what  it  was  to  cost  him, — 

"  Have  you  my  sweetheart  seen  f" 

Ah,  why  had  he  taken  that  backward  path  that  had  led 
him  face  to  face  with  his  foe  !  It  would  have  been  so  easy  to 
have  gone  on,  to  have  passed  by  that  rich,  mocking  voice, 
and  left  it  to  sing  in  the  nest  from  which  it  had  ousted 
him  !  So  easy,  with  all  that  hate  and  love  and  longing 
running  riot  in  his  breast  ?  So  easy  to  have  passed  him 


THE    WHITE  ANGEL.  31 

by — he,  the  heir — on  his  way  out  from  the  home  of  his 
forefathers,  from  the  presence  of  the  purest  love  of  his 
life?  So  easy  to  make  way  for  this  laughing  Judas,  this 
handsome  scoundrel,  his  bitterest  foe,  who  in  his  last 
hour  had  worked  him  ruin  irretrievable  ? 

"Oh,  my  God  !  did  I  mean  to  kill  him?"  he  cried 
to  the  solitude  around  him,  for  by  reason  of  trouble  and 
long  fasting  his  brain  was  growing  bewildered.  Then 
he  covered  his  face  in  terror,  for  a  hundred  voices  seemed 
repeating  it  in  his  ears,  and  his  cry  of  anguish  reverber- 
ated in  thunder  tones  about  him.  Can  you  see  how  he 
was  suffering,  what  torture  he  was  undergoing,  from  a 
gentleman  of  honor  and  ease  suddenly  to  have  become 
a  fugitive,  subject  by  his  own  act  to  the  extreme  penalty 
of  the  law  ? 

On  the  Sabbath  before  he  left  home  he  had  attended 
divine  service  in  the  village  with  Amy.  The  discourse 
had  treated  of  the  majesty  and  justice  of  God's  law 
as  represented  by  the  great  White  Throne  of  the  Reve- 
lator's  heaven,  and  the  infinite  mercy  that  modifies  that 
law,  as  symbolized  by  the  pale-green  rainbow  that  encir- 
cled the  throne.  Was  it  only  a  week  ago  that  he  had 
walked,  with  Amy's  light  hand  upon  his  arm,  through 
the  dear  familiar  ways  and  talked  of  God's  mercy,  and 
believed  in  it  as  a  steady,  bright  reality?  Only  a  week 
ago  !  and  already  the  pale-green  rainbow  had  faded  in 
the  light  that  dazzled,  blinded  him,  the  light  of  the  great 
white  throne,  from  whence  God  meted  out  the  justice 
of  his  law  to  murderers. 

The  garish  sun  faded  suddenly,  the  dust  in  the  road 
arose  and  choked  him,  the  very  stones  at  his  feet  cried 
out  as  he  sought  to  hide  among  them,  "Man,  where  is 
thy  brother?" 


32 


IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 


After  interminable  wanderings  in  all  lands,  beside  all 
waters,  through  all  space, — himself  a  phantom,  pursued  by 
phantoms, — Cedric  Cheswick  found  himself  one  day  lying 
in  a  quiet  chamber,  lit  only  by  the  fire  in  the  grate  and 
a  transom  open  above  the  door.  Where  was  he  ?  What 
was  he?  He  tried  to  think,  groping  feebly  with  weak 
fingers  among  the  white  folds  of  what  seemed  to  him  his 
grave-clothes,  so  chill  and  spotless  were  they.  He  turned 
his  eyes  hither  and  thither  about  the  room  :  a  chair  by  a 
closely-curtained  window,  in  the  chair  a  book  ;  a  little 
table  near  the  grate,  some  bottles  thereon,  a  glass,  a  flask. 
The  flame  in  the  grate  shot  up  with  a  momentary  radiance  ; 
among  the  snowy  vestments  about  him  a  crimson  ray 
flickered.  He  stretched  his  hand  out  in  an  uncertain 
way  to  where  the  red  flame  danced.  Oh,  horrors  !  his 
fingers  were  bathed  in  blood,  warm  red  blood  !  The  fire 
died  down,  the  chair  and  table  and  curtained  windows 
were  suddenly  blotted  out, — and  he  knelt  in  Cheswick 
forest,  with  Rabys  Holme's  dead  face  gleaming  chill  and 
white  among  the  dank  leaves  at  his  feet.  "It  is  blood !" 
he  shouted,  and  the  Naha-like  echo  took  up  the  cry, 
until  he  laughed,  as  devils  laugh,  to  find  the  echo  so 
faithful : 

"It  is  blood!"     "It  is  blood!"     "It  is  blood!" 

*         ******** 

"  I  am  sure  he  has  not  moved,  Herbert.  I  left  the  room 
for  a  moment,  it  is  true ;  but  he  cannot  have  moved, 
for  see — poor  fellow  ! — his  very  hands  lie  just  as  I  left 
them." 

It  was  a  woman's  voice  that  spoke.  Cedric,  hearing  it, 
opened  his  eyes,  and  surprised  her  with  her  face  bent  close 
to  his  own. 

"  Are  you  the  white  angel  ?"  he  asked.  And  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice  shocked  his  ear,  coming,  as  it  seemed, 


THE    WHITE  ANGEL. 


33 


from  such  an  incalculable  distance.  "  Are  you  the  white 
angel?"  Then  he  moved  his  head  uneasily,  and  a  faint 
color  stole  into  the  pallor  of  his  face,  for  he  saw  the  sur- 
prise in  the  woman's  eyes,  and  he  fancied,  poor  fellow  ! 
that  he  was  not  acting  with  just  the  amount  of  dignity, 
perhaps,  that  the  occasion  required. 

"  There,  my  dear,  you  are  mistaken.  Now  get  some 
wine-whey,  will  you?  and  leave  the  poor  boy  with  me  for 
a  little."  Then  there  was  a  sound  of  softly-trailing  skirts, 
and  of  a  door  opened  and  closed. 

"  In  all  my  travels,"  volunteered  Cedric,  making  a  stu- 
pendous effort  to  say  something  commonplace  and  polite 
to  the  elderly  gentleman  who  presented  himself  at  this 
juncture,  "  in  all  my  travels  I  never  heard  a  door  open  or 
close.  Has  she  gone  ?" 

"  Has  who  gone,  my  boy?"  asked  the  gentleman,  taking 
his  hand  in  what  seemed  to  Cedric  a  very  cordial  grasp  for 
a  stranger. 

"  The  white  angel? — no,  I  mean  the  lady." 

"Ah,  that's  better;  yes,  she's  gone,  but  she's  coming 
back.  Now  are  you  right  comfortable?" 

Cedric  turned  a  questioning  glance  upon  the  kindly, 
grave  face.  "  Well,  yes,  except  if  you  would — be — so 
kind "  then  he  paused  from  sheer  exhaustion. 

"  I  should  like  to  take  off — my  shroud,  sir  !  I  mean" — 
with  a  dim  discernment  of  inaptness  in  his  mode  of  ex- 
pression, engendered,  doubtless,  by  the  amusement  evi- 
dent in  the  stranger's  face — "I  would  like  to — put  on  my 
pants,  if  you  please,  sir." 

Cedric  felt  aggrieved  at  the  unequivocal  mirth  with 
which  the  gentleman  received  this  announcement. 
"There's  no  hurry,  my  boy,  no  hurry;  just  you  lie  quiet 
a  while ;  your  '  white  angel1  will  be  in  with  an  appetizer 
directly " 


34 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


"The  lady,  sir!"  interrupted  Cedric,  with  a  sigh  of 
irritation  and  weakness.  "  I  am  aware — I  made  a  mis- 
take— I  thought " 

"Ah,  well,  no  matter  what  you  thought,  lie  still  now; 
look  around  you  and  tell  me  if  you  have  ever  been  here 
before." 

Cedric  obeyed  with  an  effort ;  the  vigorous  will  that 
had  once  said  to  the  brain  "do  this,"  and  it  was  done, 
was  a  master  shorn  of  authority  to-day.  It  took  him  a 
long  time  to  take  in  his  surroundings,  but  he  recognized 
them  at  last:  a  chair  with  a  book  in  it,  a  closely-curtained 
window,  a  table  standing  near  the  grate  with  a  glass  and 
a  flask  thereon,  and  a  small  army  of  medicine-bottles. 
Long,  long  ago  he  had  been  here,  in  some  half-forgotten 
time  when  he  lived  in  the  body,  but  under  what  circum- 
stances he  could  not  even  dimly  remember. 

"Well,  have  you  ever  been  here  before?"  questioned 
the  gentleman,  with  his  fingers  on  his  wrist. 

"  Once,  perhaps,  a  hundred  years  ago,  or  in  a  dream," 
panted  Cedric,  burning  with  impatience  to  understand 
his  position,  and  beginning  to  regard  his  elderly  friend 
in  the  unflattering  light  of  an  inquisitor. 

"A  hundred  years  ago  !  my  dear  boy,  Ninon  de  1'En- 
clos  didn't  divulge  her  secret  to  you,  no  matter  how  she 
made  it  serve  herself,  that  is  very  evident.  You  saw  this 
room  for  the  first  time  just  five  minutes  ago.  Come, 
now,  don't  fret,  you'll  understand  it  little  by  little.  Ah, 
here  comes  your  '  white  angel'  with  the  whey,  and  now 
for  '  a  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  all  together  !" 

But  Cedric  ignored  the  whey  impatiently.  "  I  want  to 
know " 

"  Not  now,  not  just  now,  my  boy ;  you  have  been  very 
ill,  and  if  you  want  to  get  well  you  must  be  quiet,  and 
submit  to  my  directions  in  all  things.  Edith  !" 


THE    WHITE  ANGEL.  35 

Cedric  heard  the  trailing  skirts  swish  softly  over  the 
carpet  and  pause  at  his  bedside.  He  had  closed  his  eyes 
to  hide  the  tears  of  anger  and  weakness  that  the  inquisi- 
tor's denial  had  brought  there,  but  at  the  sound  of  that 
low,  bell-like  voice  so  close  to  his  ear  he  opened  them 
again. 

"Will  you  not  drink  this  to  please  me?  I  made  it 
with  my  own  hands,  and  I  should  feel  so  disappointed  if 
you  refused." 

The  sweet,  motherly  face,  with  its  tender  eyes,  wrought 
like  a  charm  upon  his  weakened  senses.  He  smiled  up  into 
her  eyes,  poor  boy,  a  faint,  patient  smile,  and  drank  the 
potion  at  a  single  draught ;  and  still  wondering  vaguely 
at  the  kind  face  bent  above  him,  he  fell  into  the  first 
conscious  sleep  he  had  known  for  many  days. 

********* 

When  Cedric  had  fallen  by  the  wayside,  imagining  in 
his  keen  remorse  that  he  was  forsaken  alike  by  God  and 
man,  he  had  in  reality  fainted  from  sheer  physical  ex- 
haustion. Dr.  Sinclair,  returning  late  in  the  day  from 
his  professional  round,  found  him  lying  but  a  few  yards 
from  his  gate,  flushed  and  delirious,  and  with  the  keen 
eye  of  his  profession  knew  him  instantly  for  what  he  was, 
— a  very  ill  man. 

For  many  days  Cedric  lay  unconscious  beneath  the 
doctor's  sheltering  roof,  attended  by  the  doctor's  sister, 
the  "  white  angel"  of  his  fever  dreams. 

In  the  village,  upon  the  outskirts  of  which  Dr.  Sinclair's 
stuccoed  villa  reared  its  pretentious  gables,  comment  and 
curiosity  were  rife  concerning  the  stranger  who  lay  sick 
unto  death  at  the  doctor's.  The  clerk  at  Willams 
Switch  had  added  his  quota  of  information  concerning 
the  fugitive's  appearance  and  his  strange  ignorance  of  his 
whereabouts  when  he  left  the  train  at  Willams,  and  that 


36  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

was  enough  of  itself  to  set  the  village  "on  its  ears"  for 
more.  He  had  been  seen  once  since  his  convalescence 
walking  in  the  garden  with  the  doctor's  little  daughter, 
and  was  reported  to  be  a  tall,  very  thin  young  man,  with 
yellowish  curly  hair  and  eyes  that  were  both  tired  and 
proud-looking,  and  there  all  knowledge  of  him  ended. 
Speculation  took  up  the  theme,  enlarged  upon  it,  and 
made  it  the  one  absorbing  topic  of  the  day.  Willams, 
like  Tennyson's  "Village,"  though  it  looked  so  quiet  and 
small,  bubbled  o'er  like  a  city  with  gossip  and  scandal 
and  spite. 

"Oh,"  cried  old  Mrs.  Pry,  across  the  back-yard  fence 
to  her  neighbor,  Miss  Mundane,  who  was  shelling  Lima 
beans  on  her  kitchen  stoop,  "  I  read  of  an  awful  embez- 
zlement last  night;  did  you  see  it?  A  tall,  yellowish- 
haired  young  man  beat  in  a  cellar-door  somewhere  down 
in  the  country,  and  cudgelled  the  life  out  of  a  poor  old 
woman,  then  run  off  with  her  steel-framed  spectacles,  and 
the  Lord  knows  what  all !" 

"  Sakes  alive  !"  cried  Miss  Mundane,  letting  the  beans 
fall  out  of  the  basin  in  her  consternation.  "  What  is  the 
world  a  comin'  to  ?" 

"Ain't  it?"  shrieked  Mrs.  Pry,  tying  her  apron-strings 
tighter,  and  complacently  taking  out  a  side-comb  to  give 
her  salt-and-pepper  tresses  an  extra  dressing.  "  And  what 
I  started  to  say  was  that,  who  knows  but  it  mightn't  be 
that  chap  at  the  doctor's.  The  description  suits  him  to 
a  p'int;  and  beatin'  in  of  cellar-doors,  runnin'  off  with 
spectacles.  It  don't  look  so  onlikely,  do  it?" 

Down  went  the  beans  in  Miss  Mundane's  lively  collapse 
of  horror.  It  was  not  long  until  that  worthy  philantho- 
pist,  arrayed  in  her  best  gown  and  bonnet,  set  out  on  a 
tour  of  the  village  in  order  to  convey  the  startling  intel- 
ligence to  her  neighbors.  And  so  the  ball  rolled  along, 


THE    WHITE  ANGEL, 


37 


gaining  in  proportions  as  it  went,  until  it  stopped  at  the 
doctor's  gate,  and  Cedric  stumbled  out  upon  it. 

In  the  mean  time  "  the  sick  fellow,"  unconscious  of  the 
dire  dismay  his  vicinity  was  creating  among  the  mystery- 
loving  denizens  of  Willams,  felt  his  strength  come  back 
to  him  slowly,  so  slowly,  indeed,  that  he  wondered  if 
ever  again  he  would  be  able  to  move  without  feeling  the 
weary  weight  of  his  limbs  dragging  him  down  like  an  in- 
cubus. And  yet  in  these  seasons  of  weakness  and  pain 
he  enjoyed  the  nearest  approach  to  peace  that  his  life  was 
to  know  for  many  days.  He  had  lost  none  of  the  horror 
of  his  crime,  but  he  sought  in  his  mind  a  means  for 
atonement  in  some  sort.  He  made  an  effort  to  straighten 
out  the  tangled  snarl  for  future  use.  The  threads  were 
broken,  it  was  not  to  be  wound  in  straight,  smooth  skeins, 
that  life  of  his,  whereof  he  had  prospected  such  glorious 
possibilities  ;  but  it  might  serve,  in  spite  of  rough  knots 
and  frayed  ends,  to  piece  out  some  scheme  of  future  use- 
fulness, and  so  with  the  hopefulness  inherent  in  his  brave 
nature  he  sought  to  look  his  future  in  the  face. 

And  the  brave  mood  buoyed  him  until  one  day  when 
the  doctor's  sister, — the  white  angel  whose  features  bore  an 
intangible,  shadowy  resemblance  to  some  other  face  he 
had  known,  though  it  was  in  vain  he  strove  to  catch  and 
fix  it, — the  doctor's  sister  questioned  him  delicately  con- 
cerning himself,  and  he  knew  he  dared  not  even  divulge 
his  name. 

Then  Hope  eluded  him.  With  a  mocking  laugh  she 
turned  her  back  upon  him,  the  fugitive,  the  murderer, 
whose  only  safety  lay  in  concealment. 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,"  he  answered,  while  all  the 
light  and  youth  died  out  of  his  face.  "  It  is  all  summed 
up  in  this,  dear  lady:  'I  have  sinned,  and  I  have  suf- 
fered !'  " 

4 


38  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

"  But  you  have  repented  ?"  And  there  was  such  subtle 
sympathy  in  the  kind  low  voice  that  Cedric's  eyes  filled 
with  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  that,  ashamed,  he  strove  to 
hide. 

"  No ;  do  not  be  ashamed  of  tears ;  be  thankful,  rather, 
that  you  can  weep.  We  are  united  by  a  common  bond, 
for  I,  too,  have  '  sinned  and  suffered,'  though  for  my  sin 
I  have  no  tears,  for  I  sinned  against  my  heart  and — 
killed  it !"  said  this  strange  woman,  a  horror  as  of 
memory  gathering  in  her  eyes.  "It  is  the  heart  that 
weeps ;  so,  boy,  be  thankful  you  have  not  killed  your 
,  heart." 


CHAPTER    V. 

ADRIFT. 

..."  Being  observed, 
When  observation  is  not  sympathy, 
Is  just  being  tortured." — Aurora.  Leigh. 

"  EDITH,  I  am  growing  tired  of  that  boy  !" 

"You  don't  mean  it,  Herbert?" 

The  doctor's  sister  looked  up  from  the  book  in  her  lap 
with  expostulation  in  her  eyes  as  well  as  in  the  tones  of 
her  ever-gentle  voice. 

"I  don't?  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  why?  Here 
have  we  been  nursing  him  for  over  three  weeks,  and  he 
has  never  given  us  the  slightest  clue  to  his  history,  not 
even  a  name  to  call  him  by.  Can  you  understand  it?" 

The  lady's  eyes  grew  dreamy,  looking  past  the  doctor's 
chair  into  some  thought-realm  that  he  could  not  pierce. 
"  He  may  have  reasons,  Herbert:  who  knows?  I  cannot 
afford  to  blame  him  in  that  he  has  not  confided  his  name 
to  us." 

The  doctor  fidgeted  in  his  chair ;  he  was  a  very  brave 
man,  but  I  do  not  think  the  direst  extremity  of  pain  or 
peril  could  have  so  disconcerted  him  as  that  appealing 
note  of  his  sister's  voice,  that  dark  shadow  in  her  eyes 
that  looked  like  some  horror  of  memory.  "  Nonsense  !" 
he  cried,  assuming  his  usual  tone,  and  rustling  the  paper 
in  his  hand  to  cover  his  confusion  ;  "  I  know  what  you 
are  doing,  Edith  ;  you  are  investing  him  with  beggary, 
after  the  style  of  your  favorite  Euripidean  heroes,  and 

39 


40  Iff  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT, 

making  a  romantic  subject  of  him  generally.  I  suspect  if 
the  truth  were  known  he  is  a  worthless  young  scapegrace 
enough.  Find  out,  if  you  can,  what  are  his  plans;  he  is 
growing  stronger  every  day,  and  this  sort  of  thing  can't 
go  on  forever.  I'd  have  asked  him  myself,  but — con- 
found the  boy ! — he  is  non-impressionable  as  mercury,  and 
you'll  go  about  it  in  a  better  way  than  I  can.  Suppose 
you  try  it  now." 

She  arose  with  a  directness  that  was  characteristic  of 
her,  and  went  up  into  a  little  room  above  stairs,  where 
Cedric  sat,  near  the  window,  with  his  head  leaning  for- 
ward on  his  hand.  He  was  very  pale  and  thin,  and,  apart 
from  the  natural  dejection  of  ill  health  and  spirits,  there 
was  a  hopeless  weariness  in  the  wide  blue  eyes  looking  out 
now  over  the  faded  autumn  landscape  with  a  gloomy, 
preoccupied  glance,  as  of  one  who  sees,  perforce,  but  takes 
no  pleasure  in  the  action.  He  looked  around  as  the  lady 
entered,  and,  seeing  her,  smiled  a  wan  smile;  then,  with 
a  natural  impulse  of  gallantry,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood 
there  until  she  chose  to  be  seated. 

"Would  it  not  be  more  cheerful  for  you  to  join  my 
brother  and  me  down-stairs  sometimes  now  that  you  are 
stronger?"  she  asked,  commiserating  the  loneliness  of 
his  situation.  It  was  not  that  she  had  forgot  her  errand, 
but  she  mistrusted  her  ability  to  perform  it ;  the  boy  was 
very  young,  but  there  were  latent  reserves  of  pride  and 
dignity  behind  his  impassable  demeanor  that,  with  her 
womanly  quick-sightedness,  she  looked  into ;  and  then 
she  pitied  him,  poor,  blue-eyed,  fair-faced  lad,  he  looked 
so  lonely,  he  seemed  so  friendless.  Her  heart  yearned 
towards  him, — the  heart  of  a  woman  who  had  suffered. 

"  You  offer  me  the  liberty  of  your  house !  That  is 
imprudent,  Miss  Sinclair.  How  do  you  know  that  I 
will  not  abuse  it?" 


ADRIFT.  41 

The  slight,  chill  smile  upon  his  lips  lent  to  his  words  a 
bitterness  they  might  not  else  have  borne.  Miss  Sin- 
clair's pale  face  softened  yet  more ;  she  went  over  to  his 
side,  and  put  back  the  falling  locks  from  his  brow  with  a 
touch  tender  as  a  mother's. 

"Suffering  has  made  you  morbid,  my  boy ;  frank  na- 
tures never  indulge  in  suspicion,  and  yours  is  frank,  or  I 
am  no  physiognomist." 

"  You  believe  in  that? — a  shallow  theory  !  Ah,  madam, 
there  are  influences  at  work  in  our  natures  by  which  we 
bid  defiance  ofttimes  to  every  line  of  our  faces.  I  wonder 
that  you  trust  to  it." 

He  spoke  with  the  dreary  hopelessness  of  youth.  To 
the  young  misery  seems  so  relentless ;  with  hearts  open 
to  all  the  gentlest  aspects  of  life,  with  spirits  that  are 
ready  to  embrace  all  the  boundless  capacities  of  enjoy- 
ment that  a  gracious  world  affords,  suddenly  to  see  the 
pall  flapping  down,  down  to  your  very  feet,  to  feel  the 
glad,  gay  sounds  gradually  dying  away,  the  sunshine 
fading,  fading  ;  and  the  paralyzed  heart  of  youth  says, 
"It  is  forever."  For  youth  is  selfish,  and  Magna  Mater 
is  as  selfish  as  her  blind  young  children,  let  poets  sing  as 
they  will  of  nature's  subtle  sympathy.  Ah,  the  sunlight 
gilds,  the  pipes  blow,  and  the  glad,  gay  merriment  of  the 
world  goes  on  all  the  same  though  hearts  be  breaking.  It 
is  only  to  the  stricken  one  that  the  sunlight  looks  like  the 
darkness  of  Cimmeria. 

"  Physiognomy  does  not  govern  nature,  perhaps,  but 
nature  governs  physiognomy."  The  lady's  hand  still 
lifted  the  errant  locks  from  his  forehead,  and  under  the 
gentle  tenderness  of  the  action,  Cedric,  who  had  long 
missed  the  touch  of  a  mother,  felt  the  gloom  of  his  mood 
lighten  and  disperse. 

He  shook  his  head,  however,  in  reply.  "  I  doubt  that 
4* 


42  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

when  we  remember  the  head  of  Socrates  and  the  beauty 
of  Danton." 

"You  illustrate  by  exceptions,  my  boy;  but  I  have 
come  to  ask  you  a  question,  not  to  discuss  an  oft- 
mooted  subject.  Come,  don't  flush  up  like  that ! 
Won't  you  trust  me,  child?  I  am  old  enough  to  be 
your  mother." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I;  past  all  the  dangers  if  all  the  joys  of  youth. 
Listen,  if  you  had  a  tempestuous  channel  to  cross  would 
you  refuse  the  aid  of  a  pilot?" 

"  There  is  no  harbor  for  me  /"  he  muttered  under  his 
breath,  his  eyes  reverting  again  to  the  waste  of  field  and 
forest  outside  his  window,  the  dull  grays  and  browns  of 
whose  shifting  colors  seemed  to  harmonize  with  the  dreari- 
ness of  his  thoughts. 

"Oh,  do  not  say  that !  What  though  you  sail  on  the 
open  sea  all  your  life,  if  at  the  last  you  find  the  harbor?" 
But  Cedric  was  silent,  with  his  chin  on  his  breast. 

"I  am  going  away!"  he  cried  at  last;  "  it  does  not 
much  matter  where,  but  I  am  going.  Do  not  think  I 
shall  abuse  your  goodness  and  be  hard  to  shake  off.  I 
have  only  waited  to  gather  a  little  strength." 

Poor  boy !  he  was  so  wretched  and  sensitive,  and  he 
did  not  see  how  the  injustice  of  his  words  was  the  bitter- 
est ingratitude  of  which  he  could  have  been  capable. 
But  the  patience  of  his  companion's  glance  was  the 
most  powerful  reproof  she  could  have  administered 
unto  him.  He  grew  very  confused  and  ashamed.  She 
stopped  his  halting  apologies  with  a  very  gentle,  pitiful 
smile. 

"  Never  mind ;  you  know,  I  am  sure,  that  we  have  no 
wish  to  be  rid  of  you  until  you  are  quite  able  to  help 
yourself.  All  we  ask,  my  brother  and  I,  is  enough  of 


ADRIFT. 


43 


your  confidence  to  enable  us  to  help  you  as  far  as  lies 
in  our  power.  We  deserve  so  much,  do  we  not?" 

Her  generosity  overcame  him  ;  his  eyes  filled  with  tears 
that  he  trusted  her  to  excuse  on  the  score  of  his  bodily 
weakness,  and  the  bitterness  was  gone  from  his  voice 
when  he  spoke  again. 

"You  saved  my  life  between  you,  and  I  know  I  should 
thank  you  for  that ;  but,  oh,  you  do  not  see  that  my  life 
is  the  very  poorest  possible  gift  1  could  receive  at  your 
hands !  I  am  puzzled  what  use  to  make  of  it.  A  single 
act  of  sin  and  folly  has  destroyed  all  its  possibilities  for- 
ever. I  owned  but  yesterday,  it  seems  to  me,  so  much, — 
father,  friends,  a  wide  inheritance ;  to-day  I  am  nameless 
and  penniless;  worse,  I  am  under  a  ban  that  can  never  be 
lifted.  Do  not  make  me  repeat  it,  dear  lady, — do  not  ask 
me  more." 

His  face  was  white  as  death,  and  the  hand  that  he 
reached  for  his  hat  trembled  with  the  violence  of  his 
emotion.  He  went  from  her  presence,  stumbling  down 
the  darkened  hall  with  his  fingers  at  his  throat,  the 
old  irrepressible  gesture  of  his  boyhood  when  intensely 
moved  or  annoyed.  And  the  woman  whom  he  had 
called  Miss  Sinclair  sat  on  where  he  had  left  her,  the 
tears  she  had  lacked  for  her  own  troubles  flowing  freely 
enough  for  his. 

Down  in  the  garden  Blanche,  the  doctor's  little  daugh- 
ter, was  playing  with  a  pet  kitten,  teasing  it  with  a  pine 
cone  fastened  to  the  end  of  a  string.  Cedric,  on  his  way 
down  the  sunny  path,  stumbled  upon  the  string,  and  the 
frail  silken  bond  snapped.  Little  Blanche  was  not  to  be 
propitiated. 

"Go  away,  bad  sick  man!"  she  cried.  "Were  you 
blind  to  break  my  kitty's  string?  Go  away  !" 

"  There,  it  is  quite  strong  again.      See,   Blanche,   I 


44 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


have  made  it  stronger  than  before,"  he  pleaded,  his  mis- 
ery forgotten  momentarily  in  his  vain  efforts  to  appease 
his  benefactor's  little  daughter. 

"  I  won't  have  it, — it  is  ugly !  Who  wants  an  old 
knotted,  broken  string?"  screamed  wilful  Blanche. 
"Stop!"  And  she  snatched  it  from  him,  winding  it 
around  her  soft  baby  hands  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  break 
it,  until  the  silk  cut  into  her  dimpled  flesh,  and  made  her 
cry  more  with  the  pain  now  than  anger. 

"See,  it  is  strong  enough  to  hurt  you,  if  you  will  not 
play  with  it;  for  shame,  little  one  !" 

"Go  away!"  the  embryo  tyrant  shrieked,  infuriated 
and  humiliated  in  all  her  baby  body.  "Go  away  ;  I  hate 
you,  bad,  ugly,  thin, — sick  man  !  Your  legs  look  like  lad- 
ders,— nursie  says  so, — and  your  eyes  are — are  ugly — big  ! 
I  quite  believe  what  nursie  says, — I  do  !" 

"  And  what  does  '  nursie'  say,  you  small  tigress?"  asked 
the  "thin — sick  man,"  his  "ugly — big"  eyes  catching  a 
gleam  of  their  old-time  laughter. 

"  She  says — she  says  you  killed  somebody  '  way  down  in 
the  country,  and  you  have  runned  off  here  to  keep  from 
getting  hunged,'  and  I  know  it's  true.  All  the  people  in 
Willams  say  so.  Ugh,  ugly,  thin  man  !  you'd  better 
not  let  my  papa  hear  it,  he'd, — he'd  make  a  jail  to  hung 
you  in  himself,  and  I'd  help  him  !  Oh,  I  would, — you 
needn't  look  so  white  with  your  big  eyes — I  would,  I  would! 
and  I'd  get  a  string  much,  much  tougher  than  this  to  put 
around  your  neck,"  rubbing  her  own  bruised  hands  with 
infinite  relish. 

Blanche  watched  the  "ugly  thin — man"  as  he  turned 
from  her  and  went  down  into  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
and  in  her  little  heart  felt  some  distinct  qualms  of  re- 
morse, his  face  had  turned  so  white  and  his  "long  legs" 
shook  so  as  he  walked.  There  he  leaned  against  the 


ADRIFT. 


45 


grape-arbor,  and  he  did  not  put  up  his  hands  to  pick  a 
single  grape. 

She  crept  a  few  paces  nearer  him  and  cried  in  a  high, 
defiant  voice, — 

"Eat  the  grapes  if  you  will,  nobody  cares!"  but  he 
did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  Then,  after  a  long,  thonght- 
.  ful  pause,  she  darted  to  where  he  stood,  and,  catch- 
ing his  sleeve,  implored,  with  her  two  wistful,  regretful 
eyes,  notice  of  her  small  self. 

"  Well,  little  one,  what  is  it  ?" 

"They  are  all  saying  so,  everybody,  but  I  told  a  story 
when  I  said  I  believed  it,  for  I  don't .'  and — and — you 
ain't,  ugly,  only  thin  and  sick!" 

He  touched  the  brown  curls  with  fingers  that  quivered. 

"  Thank  you,  little  Blanche  !" 

And  Blanche  ran  to  find  her  nurse,  surprising  her  by  a 
remarkable  decorum  for  some  hours  thereafter. 

How  the  old  myths  repeat  themselves  in  every  age,  in 
every  generation.  In  vain  did  Midas  by  innumerable 
devices  seek  to  hide  his  secret :  the  very  reeds  shaking 
in  the  wind  babbled  of  it,  the  very  ground  beneath  his 
feet  betrayed  him. 

Up  in  the  chamber  that  had  sheltered  him  during  the 
long,  weary  days  of  his  fever  and  delirium  Cedric  Ches- 
wick  sat  long  after  the  household  had  retired  for  the 
night.  By  the  dawn  he  must  be  far  away  from  Willams, 
but  he  would  fortify  himself  by  a  moment  of  steady 
thought  before  he  set  out  on  his  unknown  path.  He  had 
not  accepted  little  Blanche's  angry  babble  literally,  but 
it  served  to  open  his  eyes  to  his  danger.  People  were 
beginning  to  talk  about  him  and  to  speculate  concerning 
him.  That  he  could  ill  afford  ;  a  man  under  a  ban  as  he 
was,  whose  only  safety  from  the  grip  of  the  law,  which 
is  unerring  and  relentless  as  a  sleuth-hound  on  the  scent 


46  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

of  its  prey,  lay  in  his  concealed  identity.  He  had  given 
the  doctor's  man  the  clothes  in  which  he  had  left  Ches- 
wick,  and  substituted  for  them  a  rough  suit  of  brown ;  his 
watch  he  would  leave  behind  him,  a  plain  hunting-case 
that  his  father  had  given  him  on  his  sixteenth  birthday. 
He  was  emaciated  and  weary-eyed, — as  little  Blanche  had 
said,  "  ugly, — thin."  With  the  huge,  flapping  felt  hat  he 
had  bought  in  Willams  pulled  down  over  his  brows,  in 
his  rough  clothes  and  altered  aspect,  surely  Jacob  Martin 
might  have  passed  him  by  as  a  stranger.  For  Rick,  at 
Cheswick,  had  often  been  obliged  to  take  some  banter 
concerning  his  fastidious  habits.  "  Rick's  a  swell  !" 
Rabys  had  said  once,  at  college,  with  that  underlying 
venom  that  had  characterized  his  relations  with  his  foster- 
brother  from  their  earliest  connection.  "But  Rick  can 
afford  to  be;  he  has  the  principle  of  all  those  boshy  old 
chronicles  in  the  library  to  sustain.  Rick  is  a  patrician  ; 
I'm  a  plebeian,  perhaps;  but  if  he  don't  look  out  I'll 
play  a  trick  on  him  yet,  for  I'm  my  father's  Jacob  !" 

Yes,  Cedric  to-day — worn  by  illness  and  despair,  in  his 
uncomely  apparel — looked  little  enough  like  the  Cedric 
of  old,  clear-eyed  and  resolute  in  the  graceful  guise  of  a 
gentleman,  with  the  bonhomie  and  beauty  of  a  whole  race 
of  Cheswicks  blooming  anew  in  his  person. 

He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and  pondered,  while 
the  darkness  grew  deeper,  what  he  should  do,  what  path 
of  honorable  pursuit  lay  open  before  him.  Or,  rather, 
he  thought  when  he  sat  down  that  he  would,  before  he 
left,  ferret  out  a  way  to  help  himself.  He  meant,  by  dint 
of  determination  and  shrewd  judgment,  to  strike  upon 
some  plan  by  which  he  might  hold  his  life  in  some  sort  of 
shape.  And  after  this  fashion  he  set  about  his  cogitations: 

He  had  barely  enough  money  to  meet  the  exigencies  of 
life  for  a  short  time.  Where  would  he  be  safe  ? — safe  from 


ADRIFT. 


47 


the  law  for  a  while, — for,  sooner  or  later,  that  tragedy 
enacted  in  the  depth  of  Cheswick  wood  will  be  traced  to 
its  source,  and  he,  the  last  of  the  Cheswicks,  would  be 
called  upon  to  expiate  his  crime  as  though  he  were  the 
veriest  beggar  on  God's  earth  ! 

That  was  the  end  of  his  cogitation. 

When  CEdipus  sought  to  stifle  the  memory  of  his  crime 
in  the  narrow  Phocian  way  with  the  splendors  of  his  The- 
ban  kingdom,  did  he  dream  of  the  pestilence  that  was  ap- 
proaching on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  slowly  though  surely, 
and  of  the  voice  that  would  cry  therefrom  for  the  blood 
of  murdered  Laius?  Perhaps  not,  but  it  came  at  last, — 
retribution, — and  he  who  of  all  the  world  alone  had  un- 
riddled the  mighty  mystery  of  the  Sphinx,  he  who  in  the 
noonday  glory  of  his  pride  and  strength  had  aspired  to  a 
place  among  the  gods,  came  at  last,  blind  and  miserable, 
to  die  in  the  Cave  of  the  Furies !  Why  did  those  idle 
fables  arise  in  his  memory  to  sting  him?  "It  was  mur- 
der !"  he  groaned,  looking  down  into  the  fading  embers 
that  gave  back  to  his  glance  but  that  one  unfading  scene 
in  Cheswick  wood  of  Rabys  Holme  bleeding  and  dead, 
— killed  by  his  hand  !  "It  was  murder !  I  turned  back 
to  meet  him  in  the  wood-path,  and  I  knew  if  he  dared 
open  his  lips  to  me  I  would  strike  the  craven  breath  out 
of  his  body. 

"  It  was  murder,  and  for  murder  there  is  but  one  ex- 
piation,— a  life  for  a  life,  the  old  law  !  Yet  if  I  could 
bring  you  back,  Rabys ;  if  I  could  but  awake  to  find  it  a 
hideous  dream,  I  would  be  willing  to  endure  toil,  pain, 
privation,  oh,  what  not  of  bodily  anguish  !  But  to  what 
purpose  shall  I  struggle,  to  what  purpose  shall  I  endure, 
with  this  sin  on  my  soul,  whose  wages  is  death  !" 

From  his  breast,  where  his  fingers  had  involuntarily 
closed  on  the  treasure  hid  there,  he  drew  forth  the  single 


48  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

souvenir  he  had  dared  keep  of  his  pure  and  happy  youth, 
— a  ring,  Amy's  gift  to  him  on  his  twenty-first  birthday, 
his  last. 

"  Why  did  you  choose  this  ominous  Nemesis,  little  one, 
for  my  constant  guide  and  companion?"  he  had  asked, 
when,  with  dimpling  smiles  all  over  her  sweet  face,  she 
had  slipped  it  on  his  finger  six  months  ago. 

"Ah,  it  is  just  as  you  choose  to  make  it,  Cedric," 
she  had  said,  wise  little  Amy,  whose  conceits  were  so 
quaint.  "It  is  only  to  the  bad  Nemesis  wears  a  frowning 
aspect ;  the  good  she  rewards.  See,  I  chose  it  because  I 
want  you  to  think  always  how  one  or  the  other  of  the 
angels  wins  in  the  soul  of  man.  So  when  you  follow  the 
lead  of  your  white  angel  Nemesis  will  reward  you  with 
good  gifts,  and  if — if  at  any  time  the  black  should  con- 
quer, you  would  all  the  same  be  unable  to  escape  her,  for 
she. is  inviolate  on  sea  or  land;  her  fingers  close  over 
the  helm  and  the  wheel." 

And  he  had  listened  with  boyish  phrases  of  delight, 
and  had  called  her  a  "  wise  little  woman." 

"  But  your  Nemesis  shall  only  have  good  gifts  for  me, 
sweetest,  because  I  mean  to  keep  my  white  angel  always 
just  where  she  is  now,"  and  with  that  he  had  whispered 
an  epithet  into  her  ear  that  had  brought  the  bright  blood 
in  torrents  to  her  face. 

It  was  later  than  he  thought  when  he  turned  from  these 
bitter-sweet  memories  to  the  realities  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  sat.  There  was  no  longer  any  time  to  decide 
what  to  do.  It  was  past  the  midnight,  and  by  morning 
he  must  be  far  enough  away  from  Willams.  The  taunts 
of  little  Blanche  had  served  to  open  his  eyes  to  his  dan- 
ger. Only  the  innocent  could  sit  down  in  safety  the 
guests  of  honest  people;  for  the  fugitive,  the  homicide, 
there  was  but  the  hastening  step,  the  listening  coward  ear 


ADRIFT.  49 

that  hears  in  the  rustle  of  every  leaf  the  step  of  the  exe- 
cutioner. 

He  moved  about  his  room,  and  with  his  old  instinct 
of  order  and  fastidiousness  set  it  all  carefully  to  rights. 
He  wrote  a  brief  note  of  thanks,  and  left  it  with  his 
watch  on  the  table  where  "  Miss  Sinclair"  would  not  fail 
to  discover  them.  He  covered  up  the  embers  on  the 
hearth,  thinking  the  while  how  all  the  glowing  aspira- 
tions of  his  youth  were  blotted  out  beneath  the  ashes  of 
desolation  gathered  by  his  own  hand ;  then  he  stood  on 
the  threshold  of  the  hospitable  chamber  that  had  sheltered 
him  in  his  weakness  and  desolation,  and  invoked  a  bless- 
ing upon  his  benefactors,  the  honest,  kind  doctor,  gentle 
"Miss  Sinclair,"  the  imperious  baby  Blanche.  "O  God, 
my  hands  are  blood-stained  !"  he  cried,  as  horror  at  the 
thought  of  so  great  a  sinner  as  he  daring  to  address  the 
All-Righteous  One  entered  like  iron  into  his  soul. 

Then  he  went  quietly  down  through  the  sleeping  house 
and  out  through  the  gate  of  the  garden  into  the  white, 
frozen  road,  again  a  fugitive,  again  adrift,  with  no  hope 
in  the  present,  no  goal  in  the  future. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

CHESWICK. 
"  A  past  foretells  a  future." 

IT  is  meet,  after  having  taken  you  in  through  the  great 
hall  and  introduced  you  to  the  master  and  son  in  the  li- 
brary and  the  lady  in  the  drawing-room,  that  I  pilot  you 
along  the  different  corridors  of  this  fine  old  mansion, 
lest  at  any  time  you  lose  your  way  therein.  True  hospi- 
tality consists  in  making  your  guests  free  to  come  and  go 
at  will  in  your  households,  and  yet  the  best  regulated 
families  would  not  care  to  admit  visitors  into  their  kitch- 
ens at  all  hours.  However,  the  time  is  come,  now  that 
you  have  seen  the  state  apartments  of  Cheswick,  forme  to 
take  you  into  the  remote  chambers  that  the  world  never 
sees. 

Eleven  years  ago  Cedric's  mother  died,  and  Mr.  Ches- 
wick called  in  to  the  care  of  his  only  child  his  sole  sur- 
viving sister,  Miss  Barbara  Cheswick,  a  maiden  lady  of 
fifty,  who  attended  to  the  boy's  physical  wants,  and  pet- 
ted him  injudiciously  as  the  most  doting  father  could 
have  desired.  Not  that  Robert  Cheswick  was  a  doting 
father,  or  even  an  affectionate  one,  in  the  general  sense 
of  the  term.  He  was  satisfied  that  Cedric's  rights  to  be  a 
Cheswick  were  indubitable  by  an  inheritance  of  the  Ches- 
wick traits,  as  well  as  the  blood,  and  there  he  fancied  his 
feeling  for  his  son  ended.  But  if  the  boy  had  been  killed 
by  one  of  the  colts  he  was  forever  "breaking  in,"  or 
So 


CHESWICK.  51 

carried  off  by  one  or  another  of  the  epidemics  that 
constantly  prevailed  in  the  marshy  little  village  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  Mr.  Cheswick  would  have  experi- 
enced a  more  fatherly  pang  than  he  supposed  possible  to 
himself,  for  the  bold  brave  nature  inherent  in  the  boy 
bore  a  strange  ring  of  his  own,  and,  whether  he  knew  it 
or  not,  Cedric's  future  was  a  matter  of  vast  importance 
to  him. 

The  boy,  accustomed  to  the  gloomy  quiet  of  his  father's 
moods,  or  the  much-to-be-dreaded  though  infrequent 
bursts  of  his  anger,  kept  out  of  his  way  generally  and  grew 
up  without  knowing  much  more  of  him  than  did  the 
world  at  large.  His  mother  had  been  his  sole  companion 
and  teacher,  and  he  surprised  the  neighborhood  with  the 
violence  of  his  grief  when,  on  the  day  of  her  burial,  he 
had  flung  himself  on  her  new-made  grave  and  resisted  all 
efforts  to  take  him  away  for  hours. 

Robert  Cheswick's  heart  had  been  stirred  by  some  un- 
wonted emotions  at  sight  of  his  motherless  boy's  sorrow, 
but  he  did  not  encourage  the  tender  mood,  and,  immersing 
himself  afresh  in  his  books  and  his  business,  he  left  the 
child  to  Miss  Barbara's  guardianship,  and  thrust  away 
from  him  the  haunting  memory  of  the  sad-faced  woman, 
his  mother,  whom  he  had  never  loved. 

A  year  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Cheswick  an  event  oc- 
curred that  changed  the  whole  tenor  of  the  future  for  the 
inmates  of  Cheswick  Hall.  The  family,  consisting  of 
Mr.  Cheswick,  Cedric,  and  Miss  Barbara,  was  at  tea. 
Jacob  Martin  brought  in  the  letter-bag,  gave  it  into  his 
master's  hand,  and  retired.  Jacob's  wife,  Amanda,  Miss 
Barbara's  chief  assistant,  stood  behind  her  mistress, 
quietly  attentive  and  on  the  alert.  Mr.  Cheswick  emp- 
tied the  papers  out  upon  the  table  ;  a  letter  slipped  to 
the  floor.  He  stooped  with  a  reddening  face  and  picked 


52 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


it  up.  Cedric,  taking  advantage  of  his  father's  absorp- 
tion, slipped  from  his  place  at  the  table  and  escaped  to 
the  library,  where  he  had  left  a  very  interesting  problem 
in  chess  only  half  worked  out. 

"  Barbara,"  said  Mr.  Cheswick,  when  he  had  folded 
the  sheet  carefully  and  readjusted  it  in  the  envelope,  "  I 
have  something  strange  to  tell  you."  Miss  Barbara  settled 
her  spectacles  and  looked  at  him  inquiringly  above  them. 
"  Rabys  Holme  is  dying,  and  he  writes  for  me  to  come 
and  take  his  boy." 

"You,  Robert,  you /"  cried  old  Miss  Cheswick,  fiery 
gleams  in  her  sunken  black  eyes.  "  He  dares  ask  that  of 
you  ?" 

Mr.  Cheswick  stirred  his  coffee  mechanically. 

"And  his  wife?  what  does  he  say  of  his  wife?" 

A  flush  crept  slowly  up  to  Robert  Cheswick's  temples, 
where  gray  hairs  mingled  with  the  fair  curling  locks  of 
his  closely-cut  hair.  "  She  left  him  years  ago,  and  it  has 
been  the  one  aim  of  his  life  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  her 
child's  whereabouts  a  secret  from  her." 

"He  took  her  child!"  Some  womanly  commisera- 
tion was  making  Miss  Barbara's  eyes  soft. 

"  He  asks  me  to  take  his  child  and  keep  him,  as  he  has 
done,  from  all  knowledge  of  his  mother." 

"And  you?"  Miss  Barbara's  voice,  low  and  quiet  as 
it  was,  rang  like  a  challenge. 

"  I  will  do  it !"  he  answered,  bringing  his  clinched  fist 
down  upon  the  table  with  a  force  that  made  the  china  and 
silver  jingle.  "I  will  do  it !" 

"  You  may  go,  "Manda,"  ordered  Miss  Barbara  to  the 
Abigail  behind  her  chair,  and  when  the  door  closed  be- 
hind her,  she  leaned  over  the  silver,  the  little  black  curls 
on  either  side  of  her  temples  shaking  with  the  vehemence 
of  her  warning.  "Take  care  how  you  do  this  thing, 


CHESWICK. 


53 


Robert  Cheswick,  take  care  !  Your  vengeance  may  recoil 
upon  yourself." 

"  Nonsense,  Barbara  !  I  will  bring  him  here,  treat  him 
as  my  own  son,  and  give  him  equal  chances  with  Cedric ; 
what  better  could  happen  to  the  boy?" 

"Nonsense!"  echoed  Miss  Barbara.  "You  will  care 
for  him  not  through  any  generous  feeling  to  your  foe, 
Robert  Cheswick,  but  because  you  will  like  to  think  of 
her  desolate  in  her  old  age  as  she  made  you  in  your 
youth." 

Mr.  Cheswick  pushed  back  his  chair  with  a  mighty 
clatter  and  rose  from  the  table,  his  forehead  crimson. 
"  Are  you  mad,  to  revive  that  old  folly  of  my  youth, 
Barbara  !  It  matters  little  to  you,  I  should  think,  with 
what  motive  I  shall  undertake  the  care  of  Rabys  Holme's 
boy.  He  comes,  that  is  a  certain  fact.  If  you  think 
the  additional  charge  will  be  too  much  for  you,  you  have 
only  to  say  so." 

And  he  did  come  one  stormy  December  evening,  when 
Miss  Barbara  and  Cedric  were  bidding  each  other  good- 
night on  the  upper  landing  of  the  hall.  There  was  the 
sound  of  a  door  opening,  a  great  rush  of  wind  that  nearly 
extinguished  the  light  Cedric  held,  and  he  turned  to  see 
his  father  leading  in  from  the  porch  a  boy  of  about  his 
own  size,  so  wrapped  and  muffled  that  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  of  his  face  but  a  pair  of  large  black  eyes  that  looked 
frightened  and  irritable  at  once. 

"Come  down,  Rick!"  shouted  his  father.  "Now 
shake  hands,  youngsters!"  as  Cedric  came,  obedient 
to  his  call,  and  stood  before  him. 

Cedric  boldly  extended  his  hand,  but  little  Holme 
shrank  farther  back  into  the  angle  of  the  hall. 

"What!  won't  make  up?  That's  because  he's  hun- 
gry and  tired.  Take  him  off  to  Aunt  Bab,  Rick,  and, 

5* 


54 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


see  here,  his  name  is  Rabys.  Off  with  you  now,  and  be 
good  friends." 

But  Rabys  declared  he  was  not  hungry,  in  a  sulky  way 
that  was  a  revelation  to  the  little  Cedric,  sunny  and  in- 
souciant himself,  except  when  moved,  which  was  not 
often,  to  the  quick  anger  of  his  race. 

It  was  dull  work  propitiating  his  father's  ward  on  that 
first  night,  but  Cedric  noticed  that,  notwithstanding  his 
avowal  to  the  contrary,  he  was  hungry,  and  ate  unre- 
strainedly of  the  bountiful  lunch  Aunt  Bab  set  for  him, 
making  repeated  raids  upon  the  preserve  dish. 

Cedric  further  observed  that  he  was  a  very  handsome 
boy,  with  well  formed  and  regular  features,  and  hair  soft 
and  silken  as  a  girl's.  But  he  met  all  his  smiling  over- 
tures with  silence  and  an  ominous  frown  above  his  soft 
dark  eyes,  so  that  it  was  a  relief  when  Miss  Barbara  came 
and  took  him  off  to  bed. 

Rabys  did  not  improve  upon  acquaintance.  The  two 
boys  were  antagonistic  from  the  first.  They  might  have 
been  of  different  species  so  far  as  their  sensations  and 
perceptions  were  concerned.  There  was  the  difference 
of  the  eagle  and  the  mole  between  them  :  the  light  shone 
alike  in  the  eye  of  both,  but  while  the  one  gloried  in 
it  and  sought  to  draw  nearer  ever  the  divine  source  of 
effulgence,  the  other  burrowed  on  blind  and  unconscious. 

It  did  not  help  him  in  his  honest  effort  to  make  a  com- 
panion of  Rabys  when  he  found  his  father  making  a  pet 
of  him  ;  his  father  who,  beyond  the  slightest  concern  for 
his  welfare,  had  never  appeared  to  notice  him.  And  Ra- 
bys, who  was  wilful  and  insolent  to  everybody  about  the 
premises,  and  from  the  first  defiant  of  Miss  Barbara's  gen- 
tle rule,  never  failed  in  strict  obedience  and  respect  to  his 
foster-father.  Miss  Barbara,  angered  one  day  by  some  un- 
usual defiance  on  Rabys's  part,  made  a  remark  in  Cedric's 


CHESWICK. 


55 


hearing  that  he  never  forgot,  and  that  added  to  his  preju- 
dice of  Rabys  in  after-years  when,  as  was  natural,  his 
father's  partiality  to  the  son  of  a  stranger  came  to  be 
talked  about  in  the  neighborhood.  "  The  young  ras- 
cal !"  she  had  said,  "  he  knows  on  which  side  his  bread 
is  buttered,  and  he's  shrewd  enough  to  keep  that  side 
up!" 

Cedric  was  not  conscious  of  the  fact,  but  this  remark 
of  his  aunt,  made  thoughtlessly  and  in  anger,  rendered 
him  suspicious  of  Rabys,  where  before  he  had  only  been 
intolerant.  The  boy  was  frank  and  open  as  light,  but  he 
was  very  lonely,  and  when  he  saw  Rabys  revelling  in  the 
warmth  of  his  father's  favor,  of  which  so  little  had  been 
vouchsafed  him  during  his  lonely  boyhood,  he  grew  angry 
and  suspicious  of  the  intruder,  the  more  that  his  behavior 
was  so  questionable. 

The  years  went  on,  and  if  Cedric  had  not  come  to  make 
the  query  that  Locke  thought  inevitable  under  such  train- 
ing, "  Father,  when  will  you  die?"  he  had  at  least  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  task  of  trying  to  win  over  his 
father  was  a  thankless  one,  and  might  as  well  be  given  up. 

If  Mr.  Cheswick,  suffering  with  gout  by  this  time  and 
sevenfold  harder  to  please  in  consequence,  had  even  sur- 
mised the  struggle  going  on  in  his  son's  breast,  he  would 
have  been  more  surprised  than  words  could  have  ex- 
pressed. He  believed  that  the  proper  plan  to  rear  a 
child  was  at  arm's  length.  Respect  was  an  all-important 
ingredient  in  a  child's  relations  with  a  father,  respect 
amounting  to  veneration,  which  ingredient,  if  the  child 
be  allowed  the  familiar  footing  of  a  companion,  falls  a 
sacrifice,  of  course.  He  congratulated  himself  upon  the 
success  of  his  theory,  and  was  very  proud  of  Cedric  as  he 
grew  to  manhood.  True,  the  boy  had  some  soft,  girlish 
ways  that  he  had  inherited  from  his  mother, — a  trick  of 


5  6  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

gazing  at  sunsets  and  reading  poetry,  and  a  wild  love  of 
music,  which  he  had  given  him  time  and  means  to  culti- 
vate. There  were  some  stray  notions  of  delicacy  and 
harmony  in  his  head  more  befitting  a  woman  than  the 
last  of  the  Cheswicks,  but  on  the  whole  Cedric  was  a 
success  in  his  father's  mind,  and  had  developed  wonder- 
fully from  the  thin,  fair-faced  child  into  the  tall,  athletic 
stripling  that  brought  back  to  the  gloomy,  gray-haired 
man  faint  bitter  memories  of  his  own  proud  and  gracious 
youth. 

And  with  these  thoughts  in  his  mind  he  would  look  at 
his  boy  gazing  up  into  the  sunsets  from  his  library  window, 
little  dreaming  that  his  heart  was  aching  with  its  weight 
of  affection  thrust  back  upon  it.  When  at  his  mother's 
piano  in  the  lonely  parlor  divine  harmonies  would  float 
out  across  the  hall  and  arrest  Mr.  Cheswick's  attention  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  little  thought  that  the  deep  longing 
for  sympathy  in  the  boy's  soul  drove  him  to  the  solitude 
that  was  teeming  with  the  memory  of  his  mother's  love, 
and  that  in  the  affluence  of  his  home  his  only  son  stood 
a  very  beggar,  hungering  for  the  love  his  father  denied  him. 

Oh,  foolish  human  hearts  that  cover  up  your  tenderest 
impulses  with  a  mask  of  indifference,  and  deem  you  act 
wisely  in  so  doing,  if  you  could  but  know  of  the  direful 
results  that  too  often  follow  ! 

Rabys  was  a  sprightly  fellow,  a  happy-go-lucky  sort  of 
a  lad,  who  alw'ays  brought  a  bright  face  into  his  guar- 
dian's library,  and  interested  him  by  dint  of  his  persistent 
demands  upon  his  time  and  attention.  Then,  as  the  boy 
grew  older,  his  avowed  preference  for  his  guardian,  his 
obedience  and  ready  compliance  with  all  his  commands 
flattered  him,  and  so,  more  because  Rabys  managed  it 
than  that  Mr.  Cheswick  preferred  it,  this  state  of  affairs 
had  come  about. 


CHESWICK, 


57 


Absorbed  in  his  books  and  the  business  of  his  estates, 
Mr.  Cheswick  failed  to  observe  how  gradually  the  boys 
were  becoming  estranged  from  each  other.  Occasionally 
Rabys  complained  of  Cedric's  coldness,  whereupon  Cedric 
was  severely  reprimanded  ;  but  no  complaints  were  made 
of  Rabys,  except,  perhaps,  at  the  stables,  where  his  im- 
perious temper  was  dreaded  alike  by  horse  and  groom. 

To  these  Mr.  Cheswick  generally  turned  a  deaf  ear, 
conciliated  beforehand  by  Rabys's  excuse:  "Rick  moons 
his  time  away  over  books,  you  know,  and  what  use  would 
my  vacation  be  if  I  didn't  get  some  sport  out  of  the 
horses?" 

But  Jacob  Martin  could  have  told  his  master,  had  he 
chosen,  that  the  sport  often  ended  in  Rabys  riding  home 
half-drunk  in  the  early  gray  dawn,  with  the  mare  reeking 
with  foam,  and  marked  with  the  whip  from  wether  to 
flank. 

It  was  when  the  boys  were  both  nineteen  that  a  widowed 
cousin  of  Mr.  Cheswick  died,  and  he  found  himself  called 
upon  out  of  common  humanity  to  offer  her  only  child,  a 
girl  of  tender  years,  an  asylum  at  Cheswick  Hall.  He 
was  generous  as  a  prince  with  his  means,  and,  won  by  the 
lonely,  sweet  face  of  the  orphan,  made  her  very  welcome 
at  Cheswick  ;  ordered  a  new  piano  in  place  of  the  old  one 
that  had  so  long  occupied  the  niche  opposite  Cedric's 
organ,  and  bought  a  pony  phaeton  so  that  she  would  not 
find  it  too  dull  at  Cheswick. 

Miss  Barbara  was  scandalized  at  the  thought  of  another 
orphan  to  rear,  "and  a  girl,  with  frowzy  head  and  fur- 
belowed  pinafore!"  for,  like  most  old  maids,  she  enter- 
tained a  suspicious  scorn  of  her  sex;  so  to  Miss  Barbara 
Amy  Randolph  was  a  pleasant  surprise.  "To  think  I 
dreaded  your  coming!"  she  would  say,  looking  over  to 
where  Amy  sat,  plying  some  dainty  feminine  work,  and 


58  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

flushing  up  to  her  gentle  eyes  with  pleasure  at  the  old 
lady's  approval.  "To  think  I  dreaded  you!  why,  my 
dear,  I  have  not  had  as  much  real  comfort  since  I  came 
here!" 

It  was  just  at  this  time  that  an  open  rupture  occurred 
between  Cedric  and  Rabys. 

Miss  Barbara  was  called  into  the  library  one  evening 
soon  after  the  mail  had  been  brought  in.  She  found  her 
brother  fluttering  an  open  letter  in  his  hand  in  one  of  his 
moods  of  positive  vexation,  which  Miss  Bab,  from  long 
experience,  had  learned  to  dread. 

"Read  this,"  he  cried,  "and  tell  me  is  the  boy  a  fool 
or  mad  !" 

The  old  lady  looked  up  after  its  perusal  with  a  flush 
on  her  worn  face.  "  If  you  mean  Rabys,"  she  said  with 
emphasis,  "  I  should  say  he  was  a  fool." 

"Tush!"  said  her  brother,  "that  is  of  a  piece  with 
the  tricks  he  has  always  played,  the  boy  means  nothing ; 
but  Rick,  the  arrogant  young  scamp,  what  does  he  mean  ?' ' 

"Well,  do  you  believe  the  half  of  this  statement," 
asked  his  sister,  quietly,  though  her  keen  old  eyes  were 
flashing.  It  angered  her  to  see  her  brother  always  unjust 
to  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  ever  so  ready  to  make 
excuses  for  the  strangers. 

"Believe  it!  Why  should  I  not?  Rabys  never  lied 
to  me." 

"And  did  Rick?" 

"  No  !"  thundered  Rick's  father,  indignant  at  the  bare 
insinuation  that  a  son  of  his  and  a  Cheswick  could  stoop 
to  dishonor;  "I  have  not  heard  from  Rick  on  the  sub- 
ject, unless  that  ridiculous  request  of  his  about  coming 
home  before  his  course  is  ended  has  something  to  do 
with  it." 

"  You  may  be  sure  it  has,  else  why  would  Cedric  wish 


CUES  WICK. 


59 


to  leave?  He  has  had  no  trouble  with  the  professors.  I 
can  see  straight  through  it,"  added  Miss  Bab,  as  indeed 
she  might  with  those  keen  bright  eyes,  which,  as  Proctor 
said  of  Charles  Lamb's,  "  looked  as  though  they  might 
pick  up  pins  and  needles."  "  Rick  wants  to  get  away 
before  the  trial,  because  he  fears  his  evidence  may  help  to 
condemn  Rabys." 

"  Rabys  says  all  the  Seniors  were  in  it,"  and  Mr.  Ches- 
wick  read  from  the  letter  on  the  table:  "It  was  a  lark, 
we  meant  no  more  than  if  we  had  taken  the  grapes  from 
a  vine  outside  the  window ;  the  deuced  thing  of  it  was 
that  we  broke  the  lock"  (Rabys  neglected  to  mention  the 
fact  that  his  own  knife  was  the  sole  accomplice  with  him- 
self in  that  deed).  "All  the  Seniors  were  in  it,  and  now 
Rick  turns  luny  and  means  to  run  away." 

"The  young  scamp!"  cried  Miss  Barbara.  "He 
would  make  us  believe  by  his  half-truth  that  our  Rick  was 
of  the  party.  Oh,  I  told  you,  Robert,  that  no  good  would 
come  of  your  bringing  Rabys  Holme  to  Cheswick." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Bab.  You  were  prejudiced  against 
the  boy  from  the  first.  Why  can't  Rick  write  his  own 
statement:  confound  the  boy,  he  is  as  reticent,  as  stiff, 
and  distant  with  me  as  though  I  were  the  veriest  stranger  !" 

"And  whose  fault  is  that,  Robert?  I  would  like  to 
know,"  interrupted  Miss  Bab,  warm  in  the  defence  of  her 
darling.  "You  have  held  him  at  arm's  length  all  his 
life ;  you  never  encouraged  his  confidence  in  the  smallest 
degree.  Why,  I  have  seen  you  notice  Rabys  Holme  more 
in  a  day  than  you  would  Rick  in  months." 

"Go  along,  Bab!  I  see  I  have  all  I  will  get  of  you; 
your  partiality  blinds  you  as  it  does  with  women.  I 
might  have  known  your  advice  would  be  worth  nothing." 

Miss  Bab  laughed,  rising  from  her  chair  and  scraping 
an  imaginary  spot  off  the  cuff  of  her  sleeve.  "  And  you 


60  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

relish  hearing  the  truth  of  yourself  as  little  as  most  men  ; 
but  my  advice,  if  you  care  for  it,  is  let  Rick  come  home, 
or  go  see  about  it  yourself,  for  I  know  Rick,  and  he'll 
stick  to  that  thankless  young  scapegrace  while  there  is 
breath  in  his  body  !" 

Well,  the  trouble  ended  in  Mr.  Cheswick's  having  busi- 
ness up  North,  which  called  him  college-way,  and  the 
affair  was  settled  satisfactorily,  though  in  a  manner  known 
only  to  the  parties  concerned.  The  boys  resumed  their 
course,  which  was  to  terminate  with  diplomas  that  year, 
and  Mr.  Cheswick  refused  to  regard  it  in  any  other  light 
than  as  one  of  Rabys's  larks,  though  he  found  less  fault 
than  usual  with  Cedric's  part  of  the  proceedings.  In- 
deed, he  inwardly  exulted  at  the  brave,  generous  nature 
of  the  boy,  who,  to  save  his  foster-brother  from  the  mer- 
ited consequences  of  his  reckless  behavior,  would  have  sac- 
rificed his  ambition,  if  not  his  reputation,  for  there  were 
those  among  the  college  renegades  who  would  gladly 
have  held  him  up  to  view  as  a  coward,  seeing  that  he 
chose  to  leave  rather  than  implicate  Rabys  by  a  confession 
of  how  he  had  warned  him  and  in  every  way  endeav- 
ored to  induce  him  to  give  over  the  absurd  piece  of  folly 
he  contemplated. 

Encouraged  by  his  father's  kindness,  Cedric  ventured 
to  remonstrate  with  him  on  the  subject  of  his  indulgence 
of  Rabys. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  dictate,  but  indeed,  sir,  you 
are  much  too  generous  in  your  allowance  to  Rabys.  We 
are  thrown  with  a  wild  set  here,  and  his  unlimited  means 
are  often,  I  fear,  a  source  of  temptation  to  him." 

"  Well,  I'll  think  of  it ;  meanwhile  keep  an  eye  on 
him,  Rick." 

"  No  need  to  tell  me  that,  father;  but  Rabys  will  not 
brook  anything  like  interference  from  me;  he  would  be 


CHESWICK.  6 1 

sure  to  set  it  down  to  the  meanest  of  motives.  We  never 
have  been  able  to  assimilate  in  a  single  idea."  The  boy 
said  it  with  a  sigh. 

His  father  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  for  an  instant, 
looking  down  upon  the  strong  brave  face  with  genuine 
fatherly  pride.  "Ah,  well,  my  boy,"  and  Cedric's 
heart  bounded  at  the  epithet  that  sounded  like  a  caress, 
"you  are  a  Cheswick  and  he  a  Holme:  perhaps  it  is 
not  so  astonishing  as  you  think  that  you  do  not  assimilate," 
and  the  haughty  old  aristocrat  turned  on  his  heel  and  left 
his  son  to  ponder  on  his  meaning. 

Late  on  the  evening  of  Mr.  Cheswick's  departure, 
Rabys  came  up  to  the  dormitory  which  he  shared  with 
Cedric,  flushed  and  scowling,  a  dangerous  evil  light  in 
his  handsome  black  eyes  that  were  usually  soft  and  laugh- 
ing as  a  girl's. 

"  So  you  have  been  set  up  as  a  sort  of  custus  morum 
over  my  character,  eh,  my  fine  fellow  ?  You  .  a  phicken- 
hearted  coward,  who  would  have  run  away  rather  than 
have  stayed  to  help  an  old  comrade  through  a  scrape  !" 
And  the  oath  that  ended  the  sentence  rang  strangely  from 
those  fresh  young  lips.  "  I  am  to  have  my  allowance  short- 
ened, am  I  ?  I  am  to  be  kept  an  eye  upon  by  you, — I,  a 
Holme,  and  you,  a  Cheswick,  who  cannot  assimilate  !" 

Cedric  had  looked  up  at  his  entrance,  his  eyes  still 
wearing  that  new  look  of  happiness  that  his  father's  tone 
had  brought  there  ;  but  as  Rabys  poisoned  the  pure  air  of 
the  room  with  the  reeking  fumes  of  his  breath  and  the 
bitter  oaths  with  which  he  emphasized  his  sneers,  the 
happy  light  died  out  of  them,  and  swift  anger  leaped  to 
them  instead. 

"Go  to  bed,  Rabys;  you  are  not  yourself,"  he  said. 
"  I  think  had  my  father  realized  your  situation  he  would 
not  have  left  you  here." 

6 


62  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

"  He  knows  more  than  enough,  thanks  to  your  tat- 
tling 1"  cried  the  infuriated  young  man. 

"  If  you  heard  me  tell  him  of  your  danger  you  must 
have  been  in  hiding,  for  I  do  not  remember  that  any  one 
beside  ourselves  was  in  the  library  at  the  time.  But  you 
were  welcome  to  what  you  heard,  Rabys,  and  just  here  I 
warn  you  that  if  you  do  not  mend  your  ways  I  shall  en- 
lighten my  father  next  time  concerning  the  nature  of  some 
of  your  '  larks/  so  that  he  may  see  for  himself  the  danger 
you  are  in  of  disgracing  yourself.  And  as  regards  your 
insults  to  me,  sir,  I  further  warn  you  to  conduct  yourself 
like  a  gentleman  in  the  future,  unless  you  are  quite  ready 
to  abide  by  the  consequences  of  not  doing  so." 

When  Cedric  regarded  him  with  those  steady  eyes 
of  his  grown  cold  and  stern,  and  spoke  to  him  in  that 
unfaltering  tone  of  voice,  Rabys  dimly  comprehended 
through  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  that  confused  his  brain 
that  his  foster-brother  was  thoroughly  in  earnest.  He  sat 
in  utter  silence,  angered,  it  is  true,  but  also  surprised  and 
dismayed.  In  all  these  years  Cedric  had  never  come  to  an 
open  rupture  with  him.  His  long-suffering  endurance  had 
found  a  limit  at  last,  and,  dazed  as  he  was,  Rabys  under- 
stood that  his  peccadilloes,  major  and  minor,  must  hence- 
forth be  concealed  from  his  foster-brother  if  he  would 
continue  in  favor  with  his  guardian  at  Cheswick  Hall. 
As  Miss  Bab  had  said,  years  ago,  "  He  knew  which  side 
his  bread  was  buttered  on,"  and  while  he  hated  the  bold 
nature  that  had  dared  set  terms  to  him  and  force  him  into 
even  a  seeming  compliance,  he  also  feared  it,  and  he  and 
Cedric  were  foes  from  henceforth  d  outrance. 

Thanks  to  the  hand  that  held  him  thus  in  leash,  Rabys 
passed  his  examination,  and  at  the  end  of  the  scholastic 
year  the  two  went  home  to  Cheswick. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AN   IDYL. 

"  Time  is  eternity,  love  is  divine,  and  the  world  is  complete  !" 

Rhapsody  on  Life's  Progress. 

AND  now,  for  the  first  time  since  his  mother's  death, 
Cheswick  seemed  home  to  Cedric.  He  was  no  longer 
the  silent,  reserved  lad,  seeking  companionship  only  with 
his  beloved  organ  and  the  volumes  in  his  father's  library, 
or  Duffer  out  in  the  paddock.  The  light  that  his  father's 
kind  words  had  brought  to  his  eyes  on  the  memorable  oc- 
casion that  had  called  him  to  visit  his  son  and  ward  at  the 
university  came  there  often  now,  imparting  such  warmth 
and  gladness  to  his  face  that  the  dullest  servant  of  the 
house  might  have  remarked  upon  the  change.  Not  that 
his  father  was  more  fatherly  toward  him,  for  Rabys  was 
more  constantly  with  him  now  than  ever  before,  and  that 
of  itself  would  have  kept  his  son  aloof.  But  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  seemed  changed.  In  Aunt  Bab's 
sitting-room  Amy  was  sure  to  be  found  during  the  long, 
warm  morning  hours,  ready  for  any  demands  upon  her 
time  or  attention ;  and  who  could  retain  a  memory  for 
troubles  in  the  presence  of  that  bright,  soft,  sympathetic 
creature,  who,  when  he  came  in  fresh  from  an  encounter 
with  Rabys,  openly  insolent  now,  or  annoyed  at  his 
father's  impatient  demands  that  he  should  make  more  of 
a  companion  of  his  foster-brother,  would  laughingly  as- 
sail the  shadows  on  his  face,  or,  like  a  dainty,  smiling 

63 


64  IW  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

Diogenes,  if  such  a  conception  be  possible  to  the  imagi- 
nation, would  order  him  out  of  her  sunshine. 

Of  course  it  was  only  after  weeks  of  companionship 
that  he  thus  began  to  feel  dependent  upon  the  new  in- 
mate of  Cheswick,  his  father's  ward  and  distant  cousin's 
child.  Little  Amy  was  frightened  at  the  idea  of  Ches- 
wick's  being  invaded  by  two  such  tall,  wise-looking 
young  men  as  the  coupe  set  down  before  the  portico  on 
the  lovely  June  evening  that  brought  them  home.  Of 
the  two  she  found  Rabys  less  formidable.  His  insouci- 
ance and  careless  merriment  were  very  reassuring  to  the 
timid  little  girl,  who  until  her  mother's  death  had  never 
passed  a  moment  of  her  life  alone.  But  she  was  not  long 
in  discovering  the  basis  of  egotism  that  sustained  his  easy 
temperament,  and  while  she  was  too  young  and  inexperi- 
enced to  read  the  concomitants  of  his  character,  she 
found  him  altogether  unsatisfying  as  the  days  went  by. 
It  puzzled  her  to  understand  Cedric's  relations  with  his 
father,  for  discreet  Miss  Bab  had  forborne  to  bring  to 
light  a  single  skeleton  in  the  family  closet,  and  she  won- 
dered the  more  when  she  noted  the  gentle  caressing  nature 
of  his  manner  to  his  old  aunt,  who  smoothed  his  hair 
and  kissed  her  boy's  cheek  twenty  times  a  day,  as  she 
had  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  little  fellow  in  pinafores. 

It  was  not  until  they  discovered  that  they  shared  a  taste 
in  common  that  the  ice  of  reserve  was  broken  between 
this  young  pair.  Amy,  never  having  heard  that  the  heir 
of  Cheswick  claimed  the  niche  where  the  organ  stood  as 
his  own  peculiar  province,  was  given  to  monopolizing  the 
opposite  corner  so  persistently  that  Cedric  had  found 
small  opportunity  to  indulge  in  his  favorite  recreation. 
It  happened  that  she  became  enlightened  after  this  wise  : 
Feeling  lonely  and  homesick  for  the  gentle  mother's  love 
she  missed  so  often  and  so  sorely,  she  stole  in  the  twilight 


AN  IDYL.  65 

to  the  piano  as  to  a  haven  of  refuge.  Like  all  true  musi- 
cians she  knew  something  of  that  "divine  circle"  where- 
of Schumann  writes,  for  as  the  waves  of  harmony  closed 
around  her  she  forgot  her  loneliness,  and  the  tears  that 
had  blinded  her  eyes  when  she  sat  down  cleared  away 
gradually  until  in  her  heart  remained  only  gratitude  and 
peace.  "Nearer  to  God  in  my  art  am  I  than  others," 
said  the  great  Beethoven.  "  It  is  but  of  Him  I  think,  it 
is  all  to  His  glory,"  said  Handel,  with  tears  streaming 
down  his  face,  as  he  labored  through  the  mighty  strains 
of  the  "  Messiah,"  and  Amy,  to  whom  music  was  as  dear, 
as  exalting  and  ennobling,  if  more  limited  in  its  meaning, 
as  it  ever  was  to  one  of  those  old  masters,  played  on  in 
the  twilight  as  I  have  told  you,  until  all  the  aching  lone- 
liness left  her  heart,  and  it  became  filled  with  a  sweet 
sense  of  security. 

Cedric,  who  was  lying  on  the  sofa  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  long  room,  and  whom  the  evening  shadows  concealed, 
watched  her  through  her  different  phases  of  emotion,  and 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  when  she  struck  the  opening 
chords  of  Beethoven's  Sonata  in  A,  for  he  was  musician 
enough  to  feel  that  her  mood  must  be  softening  indeed, 
else  she  had  never  launched  so  bravely  into  those  hopeful 
strains.  He  listened  delightedly  until  she  reached  the 
appassionata  movement,  then  arose  and  went  over  to  her 
side. 

"You  here  !"  said  Amy,  with  a  little  start  of  dismay; 
"I  did  not  see  you  when  I  came  in." 

"Your  eyes  were  too  full  of  tears,  little  one,"  he  said, 
playfully,  covering  her  confusion  with  a  candid  smile. 
"You  are  better  now,  so  let  us  leave  the  appassionata  for 
another  time,  it  would  set  you  to  weeping  again.  I  am 
glad,  indeed,  you  understand  this  language,  it  will  be  a 
bond  between  us,  little  cousin.  Listen,  now,  and  tell  me 

6* 


66  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

what  does  this  say  to  you?"  Whereupon  he  moved  over 
to  the  organ,  and  much  to  her  wonderment  sat  down  be- 
fore it,  sweeping  the  keys  with  a  masterly  hand. 

"That  is  new  to  me,"  said  Amy,  when  he  had  finished, 
"  but  it  sounds  very  hopeful  and  full  of  comfort." 

"So  it  always  has  to  me,"  said  Cedric,  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing with  pleasure.  "  It  is  Chopin's  Polonaise  in  C  minor ; 
you  will  find  it  in  that  stack  of  music  if  you  care  to 
study  it."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  Who  superintended 
your  music,  my  small  cousin  ?" 

"  Mamma;  I  had  a  master  a  few  months  only  before  her 
death,"  tears  filling  her  eyes  at  the  memory.  "  Why  do 
you  ask,  am  I  very  far  wrong?"  she  queried,  with  a  little 
very  natural  trepidation, — this  tall  young  man  seemed  very 
wise  and  superior  to  foolish  little  Amy. 

"  I  think,  if  you  will,  we  will  study  together.  That 
appassionata,  for  instance;  would  you  mind  trying  it  on 
the  organ?" 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Amy,  "but  if  you  really  wish 
it "  and  she  proceeded  to  obey  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  laughing  at  the  perplexed  face 
she  lifted  to  view. 

"  Why,  it  is  all  disjointed  and  unconnected,  not  my 
favorite  appassionata  at  all." 

"It  is  just  this,  Amy,  you  have  lapsed  into  a  careless 
habit  of  execution,  and  while  to  most  ears  you  can  cover 
the  deficiency  on  the  piano,  the  organ  betrays  it.  You 
have  exquisite  taste,  but  your  execution  is  scarcely  as  neat 
as  it  should  be.  That  is  a  fault,  however,  that  judicious 
application  will  soon  mend,  so  don't  look  so  miserable 
over  it,  or  \  shall  be  obliged  to  take  myself  to  task  for 
interfering  officiously," 

"Indeed  you  need  not,"  protested  Amy,  emphatically, 
forgetting  she  had  ever  felt  frightened  at  this  tall,  serious 


AN  IDYL.  67 

young  man,  who  stood  there  looking  down  upon  her  so 
kindly.  "  Mamma  always  said  I  was  a  lazy  little  thing, 
but  she  never  exacted  much  of  me.  If  you  will  help  me, 
indeed,  I  shall  feel  so  grateful,  and  will  try  not  to  give 
you  much  trouble." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Cedric,  "the  trouble  will  all  be  on 
your  side.  It  will  be  pleasant  to  me  to  think  that  I  can 
be  of  use  to  somebody." 

As  the  days  grew  longer  Cedric  and  Amy  studied  other 
things  than  music  out  under  the  great  mulberry  on  the 
lawn,  while  Rabys  lolled  on  the  sward  and  anathematized 
the  heat,  the  country,  everything  that  had  to  do  with 
humanity  in  the  dog  days.  "Our  Academia,"  Amy 
called  it,  laughingly, — the  rustic  reat  under  the  mulberry, 
with  its  green,  cool  shade  and  vase  of  bright,  blooming 
flowers. 

"And  Rick's  Plato,  is  he?"  sneered  Rabys,  with  his 
insulting  laugh.  "  Rare  old  prig  he  was,  too.  What  did 
he  do,  anyway?" 

"Why,"  said  Amy,  answering  literally,  "he  sat  under 
the  sacred  olives,  you  know,  and  talked  to  the  people 
among  the  statues  and  sepulchres  of  the  great,  away 
from  the  din  and  dust  of  the  city.  He  taught  them 
wisdom  and  gentleness  out  there  by  the  river  banks  with 
the  beautiful  sights  and  sounds  of  nature  always  about 
them." 

And  Rabys,  to  whom  "  the  beautiful  sights  and  sounds 
of  nature"  meant  only  unmitigated  boredom,  and  who 
would  have  given  "all  the  statues  and  sepulchres  of  the 
great,"  had  they  been  his  to  give,  for  "  the  din  and  dust 
of  the  city"  Amy  had  so  pathetically  decried,  treated 
them  to  one  of  his  rich,  ringing  peals  of  laughter,  and 
left  them  to  their  readings,  their  amicable  arguments,  and 
steadily-growing  delight  in  each  other's  society. 


68  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

"  How  beautifully  you  read  !"  she  said  to  him  one  day. 
"  I  think  you  must  fill  Austen's  requirements  for  a  perfect 
reader;  '  the  words  fall  from  the  lips  like  newly-minted 
coins,  deeply  and  accurately  impressed,  and  perfectly 
finished.'  " 

And  praise  was  new  to  Cedric,  as  it  had  been  to  the 
young  Buonarotti,  when  at  the  Magnifico's  smile  he  threw 
himself  in  almost  servile  admiration  at  his  feet.  And 
sweeter  to  him  even  than  her  praise  was  this  growing  feel- 
ing that  at  last  he  was  necessary  to  some  one's  happiness. 
When  he  heard  her  asking  his  Aunt  Bab  in  her  clear,  girl- 
ish tones,  "Where  is  Cedric?"  when,  after  a  day's 
hunt  among  the  cliffs,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  sweet 
face  on  the  portico,  evidently  watching  for  him,  life  took 
on  an  entirely  different  aspect  to  any  it  had  ever  worn  for 
him  before,  and  every  day  brought  its  full  meed  of  intense 
pleasure,  were  the  skies  dark  or  fair. 

As  I  have  told  you,  he  was  given  to  analyzing  even  im- 
pulse itself,  but  he  did  not  pause  to  analyze  this  feeling 
that  was  growing  stronger  with  the  days.  He  only  knew 
that  "  he  had  nothing  to  wish  for  beneath  the  sky,"  and 
that  while  Thekla  had  sung  that  from  despair,  to  him  it  was 
an  utterance  of  his  heartfelt  joy.  He  did  not  go  farther 
and  say,  with  Thekla,  "I  have  loved  and  been  loved;" 
that  was  left  for  another  day ;  now  he  had  quite  enough 
to  do  to  enjoy  the  present  and  what  it  brought, — the  sense 
of  companionship  and  sympathy  and  unison  with  another 
in  thought  and  feeling,  to  all  of  which  he  had  been  a 
stranger  all  his  life.  Young,  impulsive,  loving,  the  train- 
ing he  had  undergone  ought  reasonably  to  have  fostered 
in  him  a  taste  for  solitude,  but  it  seemed  only  to  have 
served  to  quicken  all  the  importunate  demands  of  his  na- 
ture, and  he  told  himself  he  had  been  starved  of  such 
aliment  all  his  life  that  he  might  enjoy  its  full  flavor  in 


AN  IDYL.  69 

one  delicious  draught  when  his  time  came,  as  it  surely  had 
come  now.  The  heart  of  his  young  companion  was  so 
simple  and  noble;  as  he  came  to  know  her  better  he  saw 
into  her  nature  as  she  little  dreamed,  recognizing  such 
fair  proportions  as  he  had  scarcely  credited  humanity  with. 
For,  like  most  lonely,  disappointed  youth  with  opportu- 
nities in  their  own  experiences  of  observing  the  incon- 
sistencies and  contradictions  in  character,  he  held  a  lofty 
sort  of  disdain  for  human  nature  in  the  abstract,  and 
looked  out  upon  it  as  Dante  might  have  done  when,  with- 
out the  gates  of  his  idolized  Florence,  he  was  fain  to 
listen  to  the  triumphs  of  the  factions  or  the  gay  music 
of  the  festa,  feeling  only  that  he  was  outside,  debarred 
from  the  life  of  the  city  for  which  he  hungered  ;  or,  as 
Savonarola,  before  the  hand  of  destiny  was  upon  him, 
might  have  looked  in  his  lonely  youth  from  the  convent 
windows,  looked  down  with  those  resplendent  blue  eyes 
growing  sad  and  pain-stricken  over  the  wickedness  and 
shameful  riot  of  the  fair  city. 

It  was  with  this  sad,  wondering  semi-disdain  that  our 
Cedric  was  given  to  contemplating  the  world.  He  was 
to  discover,  as  did  that  animo  sdegnoso  of  the  twelfth 
century,  that  the  world,  well  used,  yields  to  us  some  of 
our  highest,  choicest  blessings,  and  that  he  who  ignores 
its  just  claims  has  too  often  to  pay  the  penalty  in  some 
added  suffering  to  his  life.  But  now  there  was  no  thought 
of  future  discipline,  there  was  only  the  splendid  con- 
sciousness of  the  present.  You  may  smile  if  you  will, 
but  you  will  not  dare  mock  this  idyl  of  young  innocent 
love.  You  may  be  old,  earth-worn,  weary;  you  may 
be  sneering,  scoffing,  cynical,  but  you  can  remember 
— oh,  yes,  you  have  not  forgotten — the  strength  and 
fervor  of  the  love  that  long  ago,  in  your  early  youth,  per- 
haps, made  life  so  fair  and  joyous  unto  you.  You  know 


7o 


IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 


that  in  all  the  years  you  have  not  been  offered  a  sweeter 
draught  than  that,  in  all  your  endeavors  you  have  found 
no  earthly  prize  as  well  worth  the  winning.  You  were 
happy  then,  with  a  secret,  unowned  gladness  that  made 
the  humblest  thing  in  God's  great  world  an  object  of 
reverence  to  you.  And  if  you  have  carried  that  first  un- 
worn love  in  your  heart  through  all  the  years,  feeling  it 
grow  stronger,  sweeter,  purer  as  your  life  wears  on,  then 
indeed  have  you  found  Enna  meads  amid  the  stubbles 
of  daily  experience,  where  Peace  and  Joy  have  attended 
as  handmaidens  upon  your  footsteps. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

TURNED   WEAPONS. 

"  Who  hunts  doth  oft  in  danger  ride ; 
Who  hawks  lures  oft,  both  far  and  wide  ; 
Who  uses  games  shall  often  prove 
A  loser." — The  Anglers  Song:  IZAAK  WALTON. 

AND  so  the  summer  hours  danced  into  their  very  graves, 
filling  their  receding  footsteps  with  flowers  like  those  fair 
painted  forms  that  smile  down  upon  us  from  Correggio's 
shadowy  canvas. 

Miss  Bab,  looking  well  to  the  ways  of  the  household  and 
eating  not  the  bread  of  idleness,  saw  nothing  of  the  tender 
idyl  that  was  being  lived  before  her  eyes.  Mr.  Cheswick, 
Aristotelian  in  all  his  doctrines,  save  where  his  temper  was 
concerned,  buried  himself  in  his  peripatetic  indulgences, 
and  never  came  quite  out  of  them  except  when  he  was 
forced  to  do  so  by  Rabys,  whose  complaints  of  the  dul- 
ness  of  Cheswick  were  growing  "  fast  and  furious." 

When  the  boys  came  home  from  the  university  they  were 
offered  by  Mr.  Cheswick  a  year  of  freedom,  in  which  each 
should  come  to  a  definite  conclusion  in  regard  to  his  pur- 
pose in  life;  "for,"  said  this  very  consistent  old  gentle- 
man, making  a  quotation  in  point  from  Pindar  touching 
upon  the  value  and  necessity  of  riches,  "every  young  man 
should  start  with  a  legitimate  aim  in  life,  else  are  his 
energies  dwarfed  and  his  possibilities  unawakened.  Come 
to  me  at  the  end  of  the  year  and  let  me  hear  your  con- 
clusion. If  I  think  it  the  best,  all  things  considered,  I 


72  IN  SANCHO  PA-NZA'S  PIT. 

shall  not  withhold  my  approval  and  assistance."  So, 
conceiving  that  he  had  done  not  only  his  duty,  but  a  very 
generous  thing  also  in  offering  Rabys  Holme's  son  an  equal 
chance  with  his  own,  he  left  them  to  their  own  devices. 

In  the  early  autumn  Rabys  left  Cheswick  for  a  visit  to 
one  of  his  classmates.  He  returned  more  discontented 
and  restless  than  ever.  This  year,  which  so  far  had  been 
replete  with  pleasure  and  improvement  to  Cedric,  was 
very  tiresome  and  slow  in  passing  to  him.  While  he 
fretted  and  fumed  and  chafed  in  the  lonely  atmosphere  of 
Cheswick,  Cedric  grew  strong  and  cheerful  as  he  had 
never  done  before. 

"  What  is  it  they  do  in  the  parlor  all  through  these  long 
evenings,"  he  wondered,  "while  Aunt  Bab  goes  to  sleep 
over  her  knitting?  I  will  stay  and  see."  For  he  had 
grown  utterly  sick  of  the  public  room  at  the  Catoctin 
House,  the  miserable  tavern  in  the  village,  having  tested 
its  resources  thoroughly  in  the  months  since  he  had  left 
college.  "  I  should  like  to  know  what  satisfies  him  so 
entirely  that  he  seems  content  to  be  buried  like  this." 

It  was  the  old  story  of  the  mole  burrowing  in  the  dark. 
It  was  not  given  to  Rabys  to  discern  that  it  was  because 
Cedric  attached  its  due  importance  to  the  very  least 
monad  in  his  small  world  that  he  rested  so  well  satisfied  ; 
that  to  his  keen,  just  perceptions  was  to  be  attributed  the 
measure  of  his  content ;  to  the  strong,  capable  nature  that 
made  the  most  of  everything  that  came  in  its  way ;  and 
least  of  all  did  he  know  of  the  secret  influences  at  work 
with  his  life.  "I  will  stay  and  judge  for  myself,"  he 
said.  And  so  it  happened  that  Rabys  was  introduced — a 
foreign  element — into  the  harmonious  atmosphere  of  the 
long  parlor,  where  Miss  Bab,  a  very  unconscious,  drowsy 
duenna,  sat  half  dozing  over  her  knitting  in  the  ruddy 
glow  of  the  hearth. 


TURNED    WEAPONS. 


73 


A  foreign  element,  albeit  he  was  witty  and  pleasant  and 
on  his  best  behavior;  for  evenings  at  the  piano  or  organ 
were  impossible  subjected  to  the  frequent  interruptions 
of  his  comings  and  goings,  and  the  tragedy  of  the  Phcedra, 
the  pathos  of  the  Tristia  were  dumb  oracles  to  their  un- 
welcome auditor,  who  had  a  sneer  for  all  sentiment,  and 
expressed  open  contempt  for  those  conceited  old  prigs  the 
Latin  poets. 

Yet  Rabys  could  talk  after  his  own  lead.  Indeed,  the 
very  facility  of  his  conversation,  in  which  irrelevant 
thoughts  found  vent,  awakened  by  no  lightest  apparent 
link  of  sequence,  proved  his  powers  of  discernment  to  be 
naturally  blunt  at  the  edge.  One  never  is  so  impressed 
with  the  fact  that  wit  and  judgment  are  rarely  related  as 
when  subjected  to  the  repartee  of  such  an  one  as  Rabys 
Holme,  in  which  no  slightest  principle  of  order  prevails  ; 
in  which  the  ideas  are  light  and  frothy,  if  as  bright  and 
scintillating  as  the  foam  of  a  summer  cataract. 

The  winter  passed  at  Cheswick,  and  Rabys's  whim  out- 
lived the  most  of  its  predecessors.  He  shuffled  up  and 
down  the  carpet  to  the  time  of  Amy's  gravest  adagios,  and 
almost  pushed  Cedric  to  the  verge  of  distraction  by  deftly- 
whistled  accompaniments  to  his  best-loved  sonatas.  He 
continued  his  strictures  on  the  readings,  and  interposed 
his  handsome  presence  and  chill  banter  between  every 
attempt  of  Cedric's  to  revive  that  interchange  of  thought 
which  had  been  wont  to  characterize  his  relations  with 
Amy. 

At  first  it  had  only  amused  him  to  play  the  part  of  in- 
terloper, but  as  he  observed  the  palpable  annoyance  his 
continual  presence  caused  Cedric,  he  conceived  the  bril- 
liant idea  of  paying  off  by  the  same  means  what  he  was 
pleased  to  designate  as  "old  scores."  Consequently  he 
changed  his  tactics  somewhat,  paid  great  deference  to 

7 


74 


IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 


Amy's  lightest  action,  and  insinuated  a  plea  for  sympa- 
thy, inasmuch  as  he  was  with  them  but  not  of  them. 
Amy's  solicitude  rose  in  arms  at  this.  "  He  feels  his  lack, 
poor  fellow  !"  she  said  to  Cedric,  "  and  if  we  are  cautious, 
we  may  be  able  to  help  him  to  some  remedy  for  it." 

And  Cedric,  seeing  her  gentle  with  Rabys,  giving  to  him 
more  consideration  than  even  to  him,  casting  about  for 
means  to  awaken  his  interest,  fell  to  making  a  "real  mis- 
ery out  of  a  vague  phantasm,"  and  afforded  Rabys  some 
chuckles  of  infinite  delight  over  his  discomfiture. 

The  year  was  drawing  to  its  close,  the  year  that  in  after- 
life more  than  one  of  them  would  revert  to  in  thought,  as 
birds  fly  to  the  shelter  of  their  nests  when  night  makes 
dark  the  clustering  boughs  above  them.  Ah,  it  is  well 
we  do  not  know  when  we  send  our  loved  ones  from  us 
with  kisses  of  farewell  and  our  prayers  following  them, 
what  paths  their  footsteps  are  destined  to  tread  ;  it  is  well 
we  do  not  know,  else  what  would  life  be  but  a  long  death- 
knell  !  Would  we  grasp  the  rosy  fruit  of  the  present  if 
we  could  see  the  larvae  of  sin  and  pollution  breeding  de- 
cay at  its  core?  Would  we  launch  our  hopes,  like  birds 
in  rainless  atmospheres,  if  we  could  know  how  soon  they 
are  doomed  to  fall  lifeless  on  Dead  Sea  shores,  their  plu- 
mage sullied  by  the  black  bituminous  waters?  In  every 
age,  in  every  life  the  old  myths  repeat  themselves,  until 
we  are  fain  to  believe  the  metamorphosis  of  the  pagan 
poet  holds  some  deeper  meaning  than  we  dream. 

Rabys  had  laughed  his  most  moquer  laugh  at  the  story 
of  Dejanira,  Hercules'  wily  wife,  who  had  dipped  his 
jacket  in  the  gall  of  the  wild  boar,  so  that  it  might  resist 
all  shots,  unwitting  that  the  poison  would  enter  the  veins 
of  him  she  loved,  and  more  surely  sap  his  life  than  winged 
barb  or  arrow.  And  he  would  never  have  dreamed  of 
applying  the  lesson  of  the  fable,  even  though  he  began  to 


TURNED    WEAPONS. 


75 


reap  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure  from  Amy's  nearness, 
for,  with  the  egotism  peculiar  to  him,  he  was  slow  to 
discover  that  his  weapons  had  been  turned  against  him. 
His  passion  was  of  the  very  earth,  earthy, — a  mere 
pleasure  of  the  senses,  a  languid  delight  in  the  beauty  of 
her  features,  the  whiteness  of  her  skin,  the  grace  and 
freedom  of  her  movements, — love  that  was  not  worth 
the  name,  perhaps,  but  enthralling,  beguiling  to  his  ease- 
loving  nature,  and  rather  more  to  be  depended  upon  than 
most  of  his  selfish  impulses. 

Cedric  recognized  it  for  what  it  was,  mere  insensate 
emotion,  gauged  it  exactly  with  his  scrupulous,  just  per- 
ception, and  felt  Amy  insulted  by  it.  And  to  Amy,  Rabys 
was  not  positively  disagreeable.  What  woman,  however 
young,  fails  to  feel  some  slight  sympathy  with  a  pair  of 
handsome  eyes  belonging  to  the  opposite  sex,  that  follow 
her  every  movement  with  very  evident  if  languid  satisfac- 
tion? He  made  larger  demands  upon  her  sympathy  every 
day. 

"  What  has  Rick  done  that  all  the  good  things  of  life 
should  gravitate  his  way?"  he  said  one  day,  meeting  her 
on  her  way  home  from  a  visit  to  a  sick  neighbor;  "that 
is  the  problem  I  am  trying  to  solve  at  present.  In  what 
is  he  so  much  more  deserving  than  I  that  he  should  own 
so  much  more?" 

And  Amy,  knowing  nothing  of  his  escapade  at  school, 
forming  no  other  estimate  of  his  character  than  as  its  dif- 
ferent phases  were  revealed  to  her  though  her  own  daily 
experiences,  commiserated  with  his  mood,  although  she 
taxed  him  with  its  ingratitude. 

"  Ungrateful !  perhaps  I  am  ;  but  the  bread  of  charity 
is  growing  bitter  in  my  mouth,  and  I  don't  mean  to  eat 
it  much  longer.  Thank  heaven,  this  tiresome  year  is 
nearly  past  1" 


76  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

That  night  she  said  to  Cedric,  "  Show  a  little  sympathy 
with  Rabys  in  his  project  for  the  future ;  he  seems  in  a 
bitter,  lonely  mood." 

Cedric's  brow  darkened.  "You  set  me  a  vain  task," 
he  said  ;  "  Rabys  would  not  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  my 
motives.  Has  he  confided  to  you  his  choice  of  a  voca- 
tion?" 

"No,"  and  Amy  sighed.  "He  has  an  overplus  of 
energy  if  he  will  but  worthily  bestow  it." 

"  Few  of  us  do  that,  as  witness  the  number  of  failures 
on  record.  The  great  difference  with  men,  the  great  and 
the  insignificant,  according  to  Goethe,  is  energy ;  invin- 
cible determination  wins  the  victory,  he  says." 

"And  you  believe  that?" 

"  With  all  my  heart !  I  believe  that  with  inflexible 
purpose,  an  honest  heart,  and  strong  hands  obstacles  may 
not  only  be  surmounted  but  made  to  become  the  stepping- 
stones  to  ultimate  success!" 

His  eyes  flashed  as  he  spoke.  It  was  the  creed  of  un- 
tried, high-hearted  youth.  So  might  Angelo  have  declared 
when  those  mighty  marbles,  fresh  from  the  quarries  of 
Carrara,  were  laid  at  his  feet,  and  he  was  bidden  carve 
upon  them  an  imperishable  record  that  might  preserve 
through  all  ages  the  fame  of  the  Medici  and  the  match- 
less cunning  of  his  own  hand.  How  was  he  to  conceive 
in  his  proud  and  gracious  manhood,  smiled  upon  by 
prince  and  prelate,  of  the  years  that  awaited  him  wherein 
heart-hunger  and  exile  were  to  be  the  only  price  of  his 
toil,  of  the  day  when,  amid  the  brazen  streets  of  the  city 
he  loved,  he  was  to  bring  forth  with  mighty  throes  of 
shame  and  indignation  a  David  worthy  his  skill  from 
the  huge,  ill-proportioned  mass  already  misshapen  by  an 
inferior  hand? 

"  How  brave  you  are  !"  she  said.     "  Between  you  and 


TURNED    WEAPONS. 


77 


Rabys  I  am,  as  Plato  said  of  his  will,  between  the  two 
wild  horses  of  earth  and  heaven,  now  dragged  down  and 
again  lifted  upward.  Rabys  pulls  me  to  earth,  the  very 
nether  earth, — he  is  my  body, — while  you,  ah,  I  am  led 
always  to  strive  after  better  and  higher  things  by  you  !" 

"It  is  an  ominous  simile,  Amy,"  he  said.  "  I  would 
not  have  Rabys  become  necessary  to  you." 

"Oh,  there  the  simile  ends,"  she  said,  the  laughter 
leaving  her  lips;  "for,  though  I  'gave  my  body  to  be 
burned,'  my  soul  must  live  alway." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A   LANDMARK. 

"  The  choice  perplexes;  wherefore  should  we  choose?" 

THOMSON'S  Summer. 

"  OUR  probation  ends  to-day,  Amy." 

"And  you  have  chosen?"  the  question  was  asked 
breathlessly.  She  was  eager  to  fasten  the  spurs  on  her 
young  knight's  heels  and  send  him  out  to  the  lists  of  the 
world. 

"  You  may  not  call  it  a  choice,  but  I  have  come  to  a 
conclusion."  And  somehow  he  hesitated,  for  her  eyes 
were  very  bright  and  eager,  and  he  disliked  to  admit  even 
to  himself  that  his  conclusion  might  occasion  her  some 
pang  of  disappointment,  inasmuch  as  she  rated  his  capaci- 
ties so  highly. 

"  I  am  not  going  from  home  at  all.  My  father  has 
more  land  than  he  can  manage,  and  I  have  always  pre- 
ferred a  country  life  to  any  other." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  blank  expression  of  dismay 
on  her  face. 

"Well,  Amy?" 

"  The  position  would  be  a  sinecure,  Cedric,"  she  said, 
gently,  but  very  firmly,  "  and  the  last  thing  I  should  have 
expected  of  you.  You  have  some  ulterior  motive,  I  am 
sure ;  it  cannot  be  the  life  that  you  would  choose  from  all 
others." 

He  turned  his  eyes  away,  flushing  a  little.  The  truth 
is  he  was  loath  to  give  up  his  fair  idyl,  and  he  was  foolish 
enough  to  think  that  it  would  endure.  What  more  natural 
78 


A   LANDMARK. 


79 


than  that  he  should  elect  to  spend  his  life  doing  good  in 
the  home  of  his  youth,  with  Amy  always  at  his  side  to 
encourage  and  delight  him  ?  What  need  to  break  up  the 
harmony  of  this  ideal  life  which  their  love  and  congeni- 
ality had  created  about  them,  and  to  take  her  where  the 
encroaching  customs  of  the  world  would  be  forever  in- 
truding to  separate  and  distract  them  ?  He  was  aware  of 
the  alloy  of  selfishness  in  his  plan ;  far  too  keen-sighted 
was  Cedric  not  to  understand  the  quick  responsive  emo- 
tion that  leaped  to  Amy's  face  and  made  it  a  power  of 
reproof  to  him. 

"  Why,  Cedric,"  she  cried  at  last,  waiting  vainly  for 
his  usual  ready  defence  of  the  question  under  discussion, 
"what  can  have  come  over  you?  Only  yesterday  you 
were  triumphing  over  imaginary  obstacles  and  planting 
for  yourself  a  standard  that  but  few  can  ever  dare  hope  to 
attain  ;  to-day  you  are  content  to  throw  all  your  possi- 
bilities away  and  degenerate  into  the  mere  country  gen- 
tleman, seeking  your  highest  pleasures  in  the  chase,  and 
finding  your  capabilities  limited  by  the  merest  trick  of 
wind  or  weather.  I  cannot  understand  it  all ;  there  is 
surely  something  behind  it." 

"There  is  something  surely  beside  it,  darling!"  he 
cried,  charmed  out  of  reason  by  her  flashing  eyes  and 
the  indignant  beauty  of  her  face.  He  had  never  called  her 
so  before,  and  now  he  repeated  it,  "  My  darling  !"  throw- 
ing his  arms  about  her  with  a  glad  boyish  laugh.  "I 
cannot  leave  you,  I  will  not,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  put  a 
stop  to  our  delightful  days  here.  You  are  content  to  be 
with  me  always,  are  you  not,  little  cousin  ?  You  have 
learned  to  love  me  in  this  year  that  we  have  lived  to- 
gether?" 

But  Amy,  silly  little  thing,  was  so  altogether  over- 
whelmed that  she  could  not  keep  the  tears  back. 


8o  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  discovered  my  secret  before  I 
did  myself,"  she  said,  when  she  could  control  her  voice  ; 
"  but  how  could  I  help  it?  You  were  so  good  and  so 
kind,  and  I  was  so  lonely -" 

"  And  what  would  have  become  of  me  had  you  suc- 
ceeded in  helping  it,  you  absurd  little  thing  !  for  I  am 
not  at  all  convinced  that  '  men  have  died  and  worms  have 
eaten  them,  but  not  for  love.'  ' 

"  You  would  never  die  for  love,  Cedric,"  shaking  her 
head.  "I  think  the  lack  of  it  perhaps  might  afford  you 
that  stepping-stone  that  you  seem  to  need  for  ultimate 
success.  Indeed,  indeed,  you  must  not  bury  your  pros- 
pects here,  less  than  ever  now  that  I  know  all,"  with  a 
pretty  blush  and  smile,  very  sweet  and  deprecating. 

But  he  shook  his  head,  and  the  resoluteness  of  the 
movement  filled  her  with  dismay. 

"  It  would  not  result  well  for  you,  Cedric.  We  would 
have  you  echoing  Cowper's  sentiment  in  no  time, — 

" '  Prospects,  however  lovely,  may  be  seen 
Till  half  their  beauties  fade.' 

And  your  father  surely  will  be  disappointed,  Cedric." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Cedric,  having  no  means  of  know- 
ing the  hopes  that  his  father  had  based  upon  his  talents 
and  his  calm,  superior  way  of  surmounting  difficulties. 

"  He  is  eminently  fitted  for  a  career  in  the  world,  and 
he  shall  not  fail  if  means  and  influence  can  aid  him," 
thought  his  father  when  the  two  youths,  his  son  and 
ward,  stood  together  before  his  library  table  that  fair 
June  day  that  was  to  end  their  year  of  probation.  And 
he  was  grievously  disappointed  when  Cedric  announced 
his  decision.  It  eked  out  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  in 
the  lines  that  straightway  puckered  his  forehead  ;  but  as 
he  had  offered  him  freedom  to  choose  he  did  not  remon- 


A   LANDMARK.  8 1 

strate.  After  all,  it  was  very  necessary  that  his  son,  the 
heir-presumptive  of  Cheswick  and  its  outlying  farms, 
should  become  early  acquainted  with  the  duties  pertain- 
ing to  his  estates,  and  relieve  him  in  his  advanced  age  of 
the  cares  appertaining  to  a  large  landed  property. 

So  it  was  settled, — Rabys  for  the  law,  and  Rick  to  up- 
hold the  honors  and  emoluments  of  Cheswick. 

"  He  will  be  the  great  man  of  the  county,"  mused  the 
father,  taking  more  and  more  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
his  son  had  chosen  to  live  his  life  at  home.  "And  some 
day  he  will  marry,  perhaps,  and  keep  up  the  name  as  well 
as  the  lands  of  Cheswick.  Lucky  young  dog  !  I  don't 
know  where  he'd  find  a  more  indulgent  father,"  which 
last  he  applied  as  a  sort  of  soothing  salve  to  the  conscious- 
ness awakening  slowly  within  him. 

Well,  there  remains  little  more  to  be  told  of  that  sum- 
mer. Rabys,  observing  more  than  his  wont  of  what  was 
passing  before  him,  led  thereto  by  the  light  of  his  own 
suspicious  fears,  became  every  day  more  openly  insolent 
and  overbearing.  He  began  the  study  of  law  with  a  re- 
tired judge  of  the  district,  so  that  his  home  still  remained 
at  Cheswick,  and  Amy  found  him  more  than  ever  the  wild 
horse  of  Plato's  metaphor,  drawing  hei;  soul  earthward. 
And  more  distressing  to  the  girl  than  any  annoyance  his 
nearness  created  was  the  vaguely-hinted  revelation  he 
made  to  her  in  these  days  of  the  state  of  his  feelings  to- 
ward her.  The  time  had  passed  when  Rabys's  handsome 
eyes  following  her  every  movement  with  half-veiled  de- 
light had  power  to  rouse  her  vanity.  She  read  his  char- 
acter more  clearly  now  that  she  was  growing  into  woman- 
hood so  rapidly  herself,  for  she  had  made  wide  strides  in 
experience  since  that  day  when  Cedric  had  surprised  her 
with  his  boyish  caress  and  avowal  of  love.  Wayward, 
impulsive,  unprincipled  she  knew  him  now  to  be, — a 


82  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

human  ignis  fatuus,  leading  with  its  dazzling  light  to  the 
very  edge  of  a  precipice, — a  young  Buffon,  looking  ever 
at  the  worst  side  of  humanity,  finding  his  chief  pleasure 
always  in  the  "  chronique  scandaleuse"  which  even  Ches- 
wick's  nearest  village  afforded. 

At  last  came  the  finale  whereof  you  know.  Cedric, 
meeting  him  one  day  flushed  with  liquor  in  the  public 
room  at  the  village,  very  unwisely  ventured  to  remon- 
strate and  coerce  him  into  returning  to  Cheswick  with 
him. 

"See  here  !"  he  cried  in  his  drunken  fury,  drawing  the 
attention  of  the  bar-room  loungers  to  his  foster-brother, 
"  there  stands  a  Fellow  of  Yale,  who,  for  the  sake  of  a  girl, 
a  little  country  chit  not  seventeen,  means  to  stay  at  home 
all  his  life  and  live  in  'vain  inglorious  ease.1  Hurrah  for 
Amy  Randolph  !  I'll  bet  you  ten  to  one,  fellows,  that  my 
chances  are  even  with  his;  what  say  you?" 

I  think  if  ever  a  demon  entered  Cedric's  soul  it  was 
then.  Not  even  in  that  last  scene  in  Cheswick  wood, 
when  he  smote  the  breath  out  of  Rabys  Holme's  craven 
body,  was  murder  so  near  being  in  his  heart.  Amy,  that 
pure  little  angel  at  home,  dreaming  her  sweet,  girlish 
idyls,  making  the  hearthstone  of  his  lonely  home  a  sacred 
spot  to  him,  Amy,  whom  he  had  enshrined  in  the  very 
penetralia  of  his  being,  to  be  jeered  at  among  a  set  of 
half  drunken  rowdies,  his  love  for  her  exposed  to  their 
ridicule,  as  though  it  were  a  mere  worthless  rag!  You 
know  the  sequel  following  upon  such  a  simple  train  of 
events.  Ah,  well,  little  things  make  the  mass,  after  all ; 
little  words  dropping  from  our  lips  in  a  careless  moment, 
little  links  forming  one  after  another  the  chain  of  our  ex- 
istence, until  we  look  back  and  behold  a  great  bridge 
spanning  past  and  present,  and  we  may  feel  ourselves 
secure  or  insecure  upon  it  only  as  we  have  built  it. 


CHAPTER   X. 

IN    HIDING. 

"  A  sinful  man,  and  unconfessed, 
****** 

He,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high 
He  might  not  view  with  open  eyes." 

Search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 

"THERE  is  a  town  to  those  that  dwell  therein  well 
known."  This  town  well  known  to  the  inhabitants,  as 
that  particular  one  whereof  Butler  writes,  is  a  local  habi- 
tation, although  it  need  bear  no  name  to  you,  dear 
reader.  About  a  mile  to  the  northwest  lie  the  populous 
copper-mines,  which  give  importance  and  prosperity  to 
the  village  and  afford  an  abundant  field  for  honest  labor- 
ers in  the  vicinity.  The  mines  were  owned  by  a  wealthy 
English  company,  and  at  the  time  whereof  I  write  all  its 
operations  were  in  full  swing.  Under  the  cold  January 
skies  the  grounds  looked  dreary  and  uninviting,  though 
the  tramways  were  rumbling  day  and  night  to  the  cease- 
less echo  of  the  cars,  and  at  the  washers  the  deposits 
came  out  by  bushels,  glittering  with  fine  prismatic  colors 
in  the  cold  winter  sunlight. 

On  a  clearing  in  the  heart  of  a  noble  forest  stood  the 
buildings  of  the  mining  company.  First  in  rank  was  the 
"captain's  house,"  rather  pretentious  with  a  wing  and 
porticoes;  next  came  the  commissary  building,  with  its 
long  platform  and  three  or  four  small  rooms  for  lodgers 
attached ;  then  the  eating  lodge,  a  two-storied  rude  log 

83 


84  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

building,  with  "bunks"  in  the  upper  story  for  "the  men;" 
next  the  rude  shanties  of  the  mining  craft  who  had  families 
to  provide  for,  and  lastly  on  the  outskirts  of  the  clearing 
a  very  obtrusive  white-pine  Gothic  building,  wherein  the 
Church  of  England  service  was  read  every  Sabbath. 

The  great  engine  at  the  pump  throbbed  ceaselessly 
night  and  day;  the  huge  pipe  dripped,  dripped;  the  water 
trickled  away  in  a  hundred  little  rills,  frozen  black  a  foot 
from  the  tanks.  The  great  weighted  boxes  vibrated — now 
up,  now  down — like  a  gigantic  scale  of  justice,  only  that 
the  blind  goddess  never  held  the  balance  so  evenly.  Be- 
yond were  the  machinery-rooms,  where  the  wheels  turned 
ceaselessly,  the  pistons  worked,  the  hammers  jumped  in 
the  vast  sieves,  until  the  brain  whirled  in  contemplation  of 
this  iron  metaphor  of  destiny,  that,  never  hasting,  never 
resting,  bore  all  the  while  a  purpose  so  inexorable,  so 
unfaltering.  And  still  beyond,  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
clearing,  there  lay  long  low  mountains  of  what  the  miners 
called  "skiffins,"  quartz-gravels  of  different  grades,  the 
refuse  from  the  washers  and  grinders,  varying  in  kind  from 
the  pebbles  with  which  the  dirty  little  denizens  played 
"jacks"  and  "hull-gull"  to  the  fine  powdery  sand  which 
the  housewives  used  in  polishing  their  floors  andjables. 

White  and  dazzling  stretched  these  long,  uneven  hills 
in  the  winter  sunlight,  blockading  the  view  from  the 
captain's  house  and  lightening  the  landscape  on  dark 
winter  days. 

In  summer,  when  the  naked  arms  of  the  trees  were 
leafy  and  alive  with  the  wingy  fluttering  of  birds,  when 
the  rills  from  the  pump  sparkled  in  the  flickering  sun- 
light, when  the  men  sung  at  their  work  above  ground,  and 
the  pretty  village  girls  came  out  for  Sunday  walks  with  their 
lovers,  it  was  picturesque  and  interesting  as  any  practical 
work-day  scene  can  ever  be ;  but  now,  with  the  streams  all 


IN  HIDING.  85 

black  and  frozen,  with  the  smoke  from  the  engine  hang- 
ing gloomy  and  black  over  the  circle  of  shabby  houses, 
it  looked  dispiriting  and  dreary  in  the  extreme. 

The  dark  was  coming  on  fast  and  the  night-gang  was 
making  ready  to  relieve  the  laborers  in  the  shaft.  In  the 
captain's  house  a  light  twinkled  like  a  fixed  star  above 
the  very  edge  of  the  "skiffins'  "  bombardment.  From 
the  open  door  of  the  eating  lodge  the  mistress  called 
querulously  after  her  oldest  girl,  gone  shivering  to  the 
pump  with  the  tea-kettle.  At  the  lowest  pile  of  the 
"skiffins"  a  man  halted  with  a  loaded  cart,  and,  backing 
his  horse  up  to  the  edge,  with  a  dexterous  tilt  of  the  cart 
sent  the  powdery,  sand-like  substance  out  on  the  mound 
with  a  soft  grating  sound,  then  proceeded  to  unharness 
the  tired  horse  preparatory  to  giving  him  his  night-feed. 
The  light  from  the  open  lodge-door  shone  full  upon  him, 
— a  tall,  firmly-knit  fellow,  with  hair  growing  close  and 
thick  over  his  face  from  ear  to  chin, — a  workman  in  a 
working-man's  guise,  but  in  the  eyes  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  hat,  in  the  hands,  ungloved  now  and  busied  with 
the  gear,  there  was  much  that  contradicted  his  position, 
a  curious  evidence  of  unfitness  for  his  work.  Captain 
Hollis,  on  his  way  to  supper  and  his  young  wife  in  the 
porticoed  building  beyond,  stopped  and  took  his  cigar 
from  between  his  teeth. 

"  How  careful  you  are  of  that  old  horse,  Chester !"  he 
said  pleasantly. 

"  I  had  a  horse  of  my  own  once,  a  brave  old  fellow  !" 
with  a  curious  suppressed  cadence  in  his  voice  that  es- 
caped the  captain,  who  had  only  an  ear  for  palpable 
sounds. 

"Yes,  and  that  makes  you  tender  to  his  kind.  Will 
you  go  with  the  men  to  the  village  to-night?" 

Chester  looked  up  inquiringly. 


86  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

"There  is  a  fair  in  the  town  hall,  you  know  ;  most  of 
them  consider  it  great  fun." 

Swift  anger  lightened  the  subordinate's  eyes.  "I  to 
the  village  fair!"  he  began,  but  as  suddenly  the  anger 
died  down,  and  he  touched  his  hat  respectfully,  waiting 
to  hear  his  captain's  orders. 

"Man  alive!  you're  a  queer  fellow,  Chester,"  cried 
the  good-natured  superior ;  "  come  over  after  supper,  I 
have  business  with  you."  And  he  walked  off  in  the  grow- 
ing darkness,  vainly  puffing  at  his  cigar  that  had  gone  out 
in  the  frosty  air. 

The  subordinate  picked  up  his  gloves  and  went  off  with 
his  horse  to  the  stables.  He  pushed  his  hat  back  from 
his  face,  sighing  wearily.  His  limbs  ached  ;  the  fine  pow- 
dery dust  had  got  into  his  throat  and  eyes  and  made  them 
smart  and  burn ;  his  head  was  heavy  with  fatigue,  and  in 
the  darkness  he  heard  the  slow  even  throbs  of  the  engine, 
the  quick,  sharp  thumps  of  the  hammers;  and  beyond 
this  circle  of  noise  and  dinginess  and  discomfort  lay  the 
dark  shadows  of  the  leafless  forest. 

"Are  ye  sick,  mon?"  asked  one  of  the  men  at  the 
stable,  observing,  dolt  as  he  was,  the  strained,  baffled 
expression  in  the  young  man's  eyes.  "Tired  mebbe, 
eh?  supper'll  set  you  up.  The  missis's  got  some  prime 
baked  beans,  I  smell  'em  off  here." 

After  the  lodging-house  supper, — bacon  and  fried  mush, 
flanked  by  the  "prime  baked  beans"  aforesaid, — Chester 
took  his  hat  down  from  its  peg,  and  made  his  way  across 
the  "  skiffins"  to  the  captain's  house.  His  wife  with- 
drew at  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  men. 

"Sit  down,  Chester;  what's  the  hurry?  Well,  my 
business  is  soon  told.  I  want  to  get  a  check  for  a  large 
amount  cashed  in  the  Huntsville  bank,"  leaning  forward 
and  speaking  in  a  confidential  tone.  "  Inskip  will  be  busy 


IN  HIDING.  87 

for  several  days  yet  with  the  books,  and  the  day  super- 
visor has  his  hands  about  full.  It  will  be  a  small  matter 
to  fill  your  post,  so  you're  my  man  for  the  job." 

But  Chester's  brow  flushed,  and  as  much  of  his  cheeks 
as  were  above  the  encroaching  beard.  "  Have  you  con- 
sidered the  matter  well,  captain?"  he  said.  "Do  you 
think  it  safe  to  trust  a  stranger  with  a  large  amount  of 
cash?  Are  you  quite  sure  I  shall  have  no  temptation  to 
make  away  with  it,  or  that  my  prospects  are  so  fair  as  to 
preclude  the  possibility  of  any  such  temptation  present- 
ing itself." 

His  back  was  turned  to  the  flickering  light  of  the  hearth, 
he  stood  in  the  shadow.  The  captain  could  not  deter- 
mine whether  he  spoke  in  earnest  or  in  jest. 

"What  squeamish  nonsense,  man!  I  tell  you,  your 
voice,  your  manner  are  so  many  letters  of  credit.  I 
shouldn't  fear  to  trust  you  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

And  the  captain,  who  spoke  out  of  the  kindness 
and  unsuspicion  of  his  own  sound  nature,  was  not  pre- 
pared for  the  fervor  with  which  his  subordinate  wrung 
his  hand,  nor  for  the  glowing  gratitude  stamped  on 
every  feature  of  his  face  when  at  last  he  turned  to  the 
light 

"Thank  you,  captain,  for  your  trust,  it  is  sweeter  than 
you  dream,"  said  this  peculiar  young  man  in  tones  so 
husky  from  emotion  that  the  captain's  young  wife,  who 
had  been  an  auditor  to  the  colloquy,  though  unseen,  ven- 
tured to  peep  very  cautiously  through  her  chamber-door 
opening  into  the  parlor. 

Such  a  figure  as  that  wearing  a  workman's  blouse  !  such 
hands  as  those — slender,  supple,  betokening  the  nervous 
strength  of  the  scholar — condemned  to  shovel  at  the 
refuse  piles  day  after  day  for  a  bare  subsistence  !  And  on 
the  proud,  high-bred  features  was  stamped  such  an  ex- 


88  IN  SANC1IO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

pression  of  unrest  that,  added  to  her  curiosity,  she  expe- 
rienced a  pang  of  genuine  womanly  solicitude. 

"I  gave  you  the  lightest  job  on  the  ground,"  her  husband 
was  saying,  "and  yet  you're  growing  thinner  every  day. 
You  are  not  equal  to  the  exposure  and  all  that." 

Chester  laughed  drearily,  but  he  volunteered  no  other 
reply,  as  he  stood  before  his  employer,  his  eyes  luminous 
with  some  strange  emotion.  "  It  is  not  that ;  I  have  been 
inured  to  endurance,"  he  said. 

And  he  spoke  but  the  truth,  for  in  days  that  were  past 
he  had  executed  gymnastic  feats  that  had  had  the  effect 
to  knit  his  muscles  into  steel,  and  he  had  tested  the  power 
of  every  trick  of  wind  and  weather  in  that  exhilarating 
sport  that  has  enlisted  the  hearts  of  men  since  the  days 
when  Nimrod  was  a  mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord.  He 
was  inured  to  endurance  by  the  superb  training  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected.  But  this  dual  task,  this  Sisyphus- 
like  labor  of  the  mind,  this  travail  of  fruitless  effort  to 
expiate  for  a  single  rash  and  weighty  deed,  for  this  his 
experience  furnished  him  no  parallel.  He  could  interpose 
no  power  of  mind  or  body  to  resist  such  an  influence. 

The  captain  followed  him  out  upon  the  portico:  "Of 
course,  Chester,  you'll  not  mention  your  errand.  You 
don't  club  enough  with  the  men  to  be  popular  among 
them,  and  they  might  see  fit  to  resent  my  choice  of  an 
emissary.  We  make  a  small  microcosm  here,  Chester,  and 
the  riff-raff  is  an  inevitable  ingredient  you  know." 

The  captain  returned  to  his  parlor  in  a  very  complacent 
mood.  "  Some  comfort  in  talking  to  a  fellow  like  that," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  who  had  resumed  her  seat  in  front  of 
the  hearth ;  "  one  grows  terribly  rusted  in  a  heathenish 
place  like  this.  I  shall  have  Chester  over,  if  you  don't 
mind  ;  he  is  a  gentleman,  one  can  see  that  at  a  glance." 

But  Mrs.  Hollis,  being  a  shrewd  and  calculating  little 


IN  HIDING.  89 

woman,  was,  as  a  natural  concomitant,  suspicious.  "If, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  is  a  villain,  you  have  offered  him 
a  splendid  chance,  my  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  sapient  nod 
of  her  small  head. 

Chester  walked  on  to  his  room  at  the  lodge,  a  tiny  dor- 
mitory of  rough  boards,  with  a  hard,  clean  bed,  a  small 
wash-stand,  and  a  chair.  He  hung  his  hat  on  a  nail,  and 
drawing  the  single  chair  up.  near  the  stand,  sat  down  and 
leaned  his  arms  upon  it,  supporting  his  head  between  his 
hands.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  his  breath  curled  like  vapor 
about  his  head,  but  he  preferred  this  chilly  solitude  to  the 
noise  and  riot  of  the  dining-room  below,  where  the  fumes 
of  tobacco  and  beer  reeked  in  the  close  atmosphere.  Here 
at  least  it  was  quiet  and  clean.  For  a  long  time  he  sat 
looking  into  space  with  dreary,  wide-opened  eyes, — a  long 
time,  while  the  winter  night  grew  colder,  and  the  miners' 
voices  came  noisily  up  to  him  as  a  door  was  opened  or 
shut  between  them.  At  length,  stirred  by  the  cold  that 
seemed  penetrating  to  his  very  heart,  he  thrust  his  hand, 
aching  and  partially  benumbed,  in  the  breast  of  his  blouse. 
In  an  instant  his  eyes  lost  their  strained,  weary  stare,  his 
face  from  its  apathy  quivered  and  broke  into  warmth,  and 
he  drew  into  the  light  a  shining,  gleaming  thing,  and 
looked  at  it  with  a  rush  of  tears  blinding  his  eyes.  Was 
it  an  amulet  holding  some  magic,  mysterious  power  by 
which  that  stern,  haggard  young  face  was  so  suddenly 
softened?  Only  a  ring,  but  he  held  it  as  dying  hands 
hold  those  that  have  life  and  warmth  in  them.  A  magic 
power  it  owned,  indeed,  for  as  he  held  it  he  seemed  also 
to  hold  all  the  beauty  and  promise  that  his  own  life  had 
once  owned ;  it  brought  back  to  him  soft,  thrilling  tones, 
innocent,  sweet  glances,  the  sacredness  of  love,  the  balm 
of  sympathy, — a  cameo  bearing  the  figure  of  a  woman 
with  wings,  and  in  her  hands  a  helm  and  a  wheel. 

8* 


9o 


IN  SANCHO  PAA'ZA'S  PIT. 


"Ah,  that  I  could  have  forgotten!"  he  cried  under 
his  breath  in  the  silence  of  the  miserable  chamber,  with 
the  winter  cold  striking  like  death  to  his  very  heart,  and 
he  hastily  hid  the  ring  in  his  bosom,  and,  flinging  off  his 
uncouth  garments,  got  into  bed,  shivering  with  more  than 
bodily  cold,  a  very  coward  before  the  memory  that 
rushed  back  into  his  brain.  Nemesis  became  angel- 
guide  or  avenger  just  as  a  man's  actions  decided.  Of 
what  avail  was  it  that  he  had  chosen  to  bury  himself  in 
this  dark  Northern  forest,  where  there  were  none  to  sus- 
pect, none  to  watch  him  ?  Nemesis,  the  avenger,  held 
inviolate  sway  over  sea  and  land  alike.  It  made  no  part 
of  his  misery  that  he,  who  had  been  reared  in  the  soft- 
ness of  luxury,  who  had  known 

"  the  luscious  sweets  of  plenty, 

Every  night  had  slept  with  soft  content  about  his  head, 
And  never  waked  but  to  a  joyful  morning," 

was  reduced  to  the  common  wants  of  the  laborer  who 
must  earn  his  meal  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  before  he 
ate  it ;  that,  still  weak  from  illness,  he  was  overtaxing  his 
physical  powers  to  such  an  extent  as  threatened  disability, 
if  not  to-day,  very  soon  in  the  near  future.  He  was  wil- 
ling to  suffer  in  the  body  ;  he  felt  a  stoical  sense  of  justice 
in  the  aches  and  pains  that  assailed  his  hitherto  untired 
limbs.  He  would  gladly  have  taken  upon  himself  any  work 
of  penance  could  he  have  believed  in  its  efficacy  to  atone 
for  past  sins.  He  would,  like  St.  Britius  of  old,  have  en- 
dured the  ordeal  of  the  burning  coals  to  have  proven  his  in- 
nocence of  sin  in  thought,  in  heart,  when  he  yielded  to  the 
temptation  of  the  first  brother  and  was  stamped  like  him 
with  a  brand  that  even  God's  mercy  would  never  wipe  off. 
But  his  heart,  so  long  denied  its  natural  aliment,  only  just 
begun  to  feel  the  awakening  influences  of  love  and  con- 


IN  HIDING.  gl 

geniality,  his  heart,  hungry,  rebellious,  lonely,  cried  out 
with  fierce,  importunate  cries  that  would  not  be  stilled. 

He  had  forsworn  the  world  that  he  might  not  suffer  a 
separation  from  the  dearest  joys  of  his  life.  With  his 
own  hand  he  had  erected  an  invincible  barrier  between 
himself  and  their  influences.  He  had  sacrificed  all  the 
prospects  of  his  opening  manhood  upon  the  altar  of 
his  own  selfish  inclinations ;  he  had  not  been  guided  by 
father  or  friends  in  this  reckless  pursuance  of  what  he  had 
chosen  to  consider  his  highest  earthly  good,  and  the  re- 
sult was  what  it  too  often  is  when  we  dare  to  say,  as  did 
Canute,  "come  hither"  to  the  waves,  or  "roll  yonder 
at  my  bidding."  Methinks  He  who  sits  aloft  and  marks 
the  destinies  of  the  nations  allows  us  to  try  our  petty 
strength  ofttimes  against  His  own,  only  that  we  may  come 
to  know  and  understand  its  puerility  in  the  end. 

Thus  his  reveries  were  wont  to  end,  in  conceding  to  his 
merciless  perception  of  what  was  true  and  just  the  ver- 
dict which  his  heart  refused  to  sanction  ;  for  his  heart, 
lonely,  sin-burdened,  cried  out  unceasingly,  "  How  shall 
I  live ?  how  shall  I  bear  this  weight  of  anguish?"  After 
awhile,  when  the  lights  were  out  in  the  long  dining-room 
and  the  miners  had  all  sought  their  homes,  sleep  came  to 
him;  such  sleep  as  came  to  the  Ancient  Mariner  when,  in 
the  midst  of  Polar  ice  and  snow,  with  those  lank  corpses 
all  about  him,  he  dreamed  of  the  kirk-yard  and  the  moon 
shining  on  the  familiar  waters  of  the  bay  that  lapped  the 
shores  of  his  own  dear  land. 

From  the  dreariness  and  desolation  of  the  present  he 
had  escaped  to  the  affluence  of  the  past.  But,  like  poor 
Soui-hong  when  he  dreamed  of  Pu  stirring  the  water 
with  her  slender  lacquered  wand,  the  cold  moonlight  di- 
vided him  from  the  love  he  so  longed  for,  divided  and 
"lay  between  them  like  the  sword  of  the  cherub  !" 


CHAPTER   XI. 

SANS   PEUR  ! 

"  Though  weak  with  pain  he  plunges  in, 

And  to  the  hillock's  brow 
Is  come ;  they  wondered  much  before, 
But  more  they  wonder  now." 

Ballads  from  English  History. 

CHESTER  presented  himself  at  the  captain's  parlor-door 
next  morning  at  the  appointed  hour.  Mrs.  Hollis,  at  the 
pretty  breakfast-table,  regarded  him  stealthily,  not  know- 
ing that  those  eyes,  preternaturally  large  and  hollow,  were 
taking  in  with  one  hungry  glance  the  whole  aspect  of 
the  pretty  little  room,  with  its  comfortable  adjuncts  and 
cosy,  home-like  atmosphere. 

She  surveyed  him  keenly  as  he  stood  there  in  his  ill- 
fitting  suit  of  coarse  gray  cloth,  his  hat  in  his  gloved 
hands,  his  comforter  well  bundled  about  his  neck,  and, 
even  more  distinctly  than  on  the  night  preceding,  ob- 
served those  unmistakable  contradictions  in  his  appear- 
ance to  his  position  that  had  struck  with  more  or  less 
force  every  single  individual  with  whom  he  had  been 
thrown  in  contact  at  the  mines.  There  was  a  nameless, 
delicate  air  of  refinement  about  the  man  that  betrayed 
him. 

He  caught  the  shrewd  though  cautious  scrutiny  of  those 
keen  bright  eyes  and  shifted  his  position  uneasily,  and  she, 
being  a  truly  kind-hearted  creature,  commiserating  his  con- 
fusion, smiled  pleasantly  and  invited  him  to  take  some  hot 
92 


SANS  PEUR  ! 


93 


coffee  before  he  set  out  on  his  bleak  ride.  This  courtesy 
he  refused  with  a  grace  and  ease  of  manner  that  argued 
him  no  stranger  to  the  habits  of  polite  society,  and,  after 
receiving  the  captain's  last  orders  and  some  cautionary 
directions,  went  out  from  the  lady's  presence. 

"You  won't  tarry,  Chester?"  was  the  captain's  parting 
injunction  from  the  portico.  "I  positively  must  have 
that  money  before  the  evening  mail  is  closed." 

Chester  promised,  vaulting  lightly  upon  the  captain's 
horse  standing  ready  for  him  beyond  the  gate.  "  By  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  I  will  surely  be  here,  depend  upon 
it,"  and  he  struck  into  a  swift  canter  down  the  frozen  road 
that  led  to  the  pike. 

"  I'd  wager  my  life  he's  a  Southerner  by  the  way  he 
rides!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  resuming  his  seat  at  the 
table  and  allowing  his  wife  to  refill  his  plate  with  all  sorts 
of  steaming  edibles.  "Poor  fellow!  poor  fellow  !  what 
can  have  brought  him  here?" 

"  How  much  sympathy  you  waste,  Hugh  !"  laughed  his 
wife.  "  Doubtless  the  fellow  is  in  hiding  ;  we  have  plenty 
of  that  sort  here,  I  have  heard  you  say  so.  Do  drink 
your  coffee,  it  is  growing  cold  again,  and  I  have  no  more 
to  offer  you.  If  he  comes  back  with  that  money,  it  will 
be  more  than  I  would  dare  prophesy." 

In  happy  ignorance  of  the  captain's  wife's  suspicions 
Chester  pursued  his  way.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  the  heavens 
of  that  fine  clear  gray  when  the  weatherwise  predict  "  we 
shall  have  snow  when  it  moderates."  The  leafless  trees 
along  the  pike  swirled  their  naked  boughs  wildly  in  the 
sudden  gales,  whistling  shrilly  for  a  few  seconds  then 
sinking  to  quiet  again, — a  dreary,  hopeless  day,  in  tune 
with  the  traveller's  mood ;  no  light  in  the  heavens,  no 
beauty  on  the  earth,  no  comfort  in  the  monotonous  reach 
of  moorland  or  the  barren  range  of  hills  that  stretched 


94 


IN  SANCHO   PAA'ZA'S  PIT. 


to  right  and  left  of  him.  It  is  with  the  heart  that  we  see 
rather  than  with  the  eye,  after  all,  for  he  remembered 
when  just  such  gray,  ice-cold  days  as  this  one  held  infinite 
resources  of  enjoyment  for  him  ;  when  the  winds  whistling 
fiercely  without,  the  gray  clouds,  the  bleak  winter  view 
had  served  but  to  heighten  by  contrast  the  delicious  in- 
door warmth  and  harmony.  Ah,  surely  if  "memory  of 
things  precious  makes  warm  the  hearts  that  hold  them," 
then  ought  his  to  have  glowed  forever. 

But,  ah,  it  is  not  so;  not  often.  Human  hearts,  the 
noblest  of  them,  are  too  selfish  in  their  pain.  We  who 
have  held  the  rich  prizes  of  life  in  our  hands,  and  have 
suffered  their  loss,  may  cherish  warmly  in  our  hearts  the 
belief  that  such  prizes  exist  somewhere,  if  lost  to  us,  but 
memory  becomes  a  haunting  regret,  and  regret,  no  matter 
how  vague,  is  chilling  and  blighting  as  a  first  frost  to  late 
blooms.  His  memory  had  become  a  keen  regret  to  him, 
and  so  it  brought  no  warmth  to  his  heart. 

He  did  not  tarry  in  Huntsville  when  his  business  was 
once  accomplished.  Resuming  his  homeward  track,  his 
mind  also  resumed  its  gloomy  train  of  thought.  He  rode 
slowly,  with  slack  rein,  the  captain's  money  in  his  bosom. 
And  step  by  step,  with  the  horse's  pace,  he  reviewed  the 
ground  that  had  led  him  to  his  present  path.  He  could 
see  now,  as  he  would  not  allow  himself  to  do  then,  the 
flaw  in  his  plan,  the  root  of  self-love  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
the  weak  pandering  to  that  fastidiousness  which  demanded 
constantly  its  highest  meed  in  the  perfect  sympathy  of 
thought  and  feeling  which  she,  and  she  alone,  had  ever 
given  him.  Well,  his  plan  had  failed  ;  the  admirable, 
altogether  worthy  plan  that  he  had  conceived  of  sacrific- 
ing her  youth,  her  intellect,  her  rare  young  charms  to 
the  Juggernaut  of  his  inordinate  exactions. 

You  may  judge  of  his  increasing  morbidness  by  his 


SANS  PEUR  ! 


95 


growing  tendency  to  distort  the  facts  of  the  case ;  and 
yet,  surely,  he  was  almost  justified  when  we  consider  his 
peculiar  suffering,  for 

"  An  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  hell 

A  spirit  from  on  high  ; 
But,  oh,  more  horrible  than  that 
Is  the  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye !" 

Better  to  have  stayed  where  the  evidence  of  his  crime 
might  have  convicted  him  at  once  than  live  to  feel  all 
expiations  useless.  He  threw  up  his  arm  with  a  great  cry 
in  the  lonely  road,  whereat  his  horse  stopped,  uttering  a 
low  neigh  of  terror.  This  brought  him  to  his  senses;  he 
gathered  the  slack  reins  in  a  firm  grasp  and  started  off  at 
a  brisk  trot. 

The  winter  day  was  darkening  rapidly,  and  in  front  of 
him  a  dense  clump  of  woodland  threw  shadows  black  as 
night  upon  the  road.  He  must  move  on  more  rapidly  or 
the  evening  mail  would  surely  be  closed  before  the  cap- 
tain got  his  money.  While  yet  the  thought  was  in  his 
mind  a  strange  thing  occurred.  Selim,  the  captain's 
horse,  spirited,  though  gentle  as  a  lamb,  came  to  a  com- 
plete stand-still,  immovable  as  the  statue  of  a  horse ;  his 
ears  pointed,  his  nostrils  dilating,  his  forefeet  planted 
firmly,  indicating  in  every  line  of  his  powerful  form 
fear  and  determination  combined.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Chester  coaxed,  soothed,  threatened,  and  at  last  had  re- 
course to  the  whip.  Selim  stood  like  a  horse  in  a  picture, 
his  quivering  nostrils  and  flashing  eyes  affording  the 
sole  indications  of  life  about  him.  At  length  he  dis- 
mounted, thinking  to  lead  him  past  the  fancied  dan- 
ger, when,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he  felt  himself 
caught  in  a  powerful  grasp  from  behind,  and  the  horse, 
with  a  shrill  scream  of  defiance  and  terror,  broke  from 


96  IN  SANCHO   PANZXS  PIT. 

his  hold  and  set  off  at  a  mad  gallop  down  the  road.  With 
one  powerful  effort  Chester  wrenched  his  right  arm  free 
and  grappled  with  his  foe  face  to  face.  He  knew  him  on  the 
instant  for  O'Reilly,  a  saturnine,  dark-visaged  Irishman, 
one  of  the  underground  workers  in  the  night-gang.  For  a 
moment  his  heart  failed  him ;  the  Irishman  had  the  strength 
of  the  lion  in  those  big  brawny  arms,  and  he  fought  and 
strained  in  their  cruel  embrace  with  the  desperation  of  a 
madman. 

"Begorra,  I  don't  want  to  kill  ye  at  all,  at  all!  It's 
the  money  I  want,  ye  white-faced  young  fool !"  cried  the 
ruffian,  relaxing  his  hold,  and  Chester,  availing  himself  of 
that  brief  respite,  made  a  plunge  for  the  pistol  the  captain 
had  thrust  into  his  bosom  at  leaving ;  but  the  Irishman, 
with  a  volley  of  oaths,  knocked  it  out  of  his  hand  before 
he  had  time  to  cock  it,  and  caught  him  afresh  in  his  deadly 
embrace.  This  time  he  knew  it  to  be  but  a  matter  of 
seconds  which  should  win  ;  those  brawny  blackened  arms 
were  closing  like  a  vice  about  his  chest,  and,  weakened 
by  illness  and  despair,  he  must  soon  succumb. 

Death  !  It  had  come  in  answer  to  his  prayer ;  and 
when  life  held  nothing  for  him  but  misery  and  exile,  why 
should  it  suddenly  become  so  precious  unto  him  ?  He 
fought  with  the  frenzy  of  a  tiger,  straining,  biting,  and 
tearing  like  a  wild  thing  for  the  life  that  had  seemed 
so  barren  at  noon. 

His  arms  were  failing ;  the  blood  began  to  rush  in  mad 
surging  waves  against  the  drums  of  his  ears  ;  a  hundred 
pulses  were  beating  in  his  temples  ;  slowly,  mercilessly  in 
that  black,  brutal  clasp  the  life  was  being  pressed  out  of 
his  veins,  when,  oh,  blessed  sound  of  wheels  bowling 
down  the  quiet  road  !  oh,  heavenly  tones  of  human  voices 
vibrating  on  the  icy  air  !  nearer,  nearer,  until,  as  in  a 
dream,  Chester  felt  the  vice-like  grasp  relax,  and  himself 


SANS  PEUR! 


97 


flung  out  into  the  road,  simultaneous  with  a  blinding  flash 
in  his  dazed  and  bewildered  eyes  and  a  benumbing,  crash- 
ing pain  that  darted  along  his  left  arm ;  flung  almost  un- 
der the  wheels  of  the  wagon  bowling  rapidly  down  the 
darkening  road.  It  stopped  at  his  side ;  he  heard  voices, 
saw  strange  faces,  and  realized  that  they  were  conveying 
him  to  the  wagon.  It  all  seemed  a  dream  in  his  state  of 
exhaustion,  that  slow  drive  down  the  white  road,  with  the 
black  heavens  above  and  the  strange  voices  in  his  ear  ;  a 
dream  the  torch-like  light  that  flitted  like  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  and  grew  and  grew  until  it  stopped  right  in  front  of 
them, — in  reality  the  lamp-post  of  the  country  inn,  whose 
wagon  had  brought  him  to  its  hospitable  shelter, — and, 
last  of  all,  a  silent  procession,  in  which  he  found  himself 
faintly  puzzled  to  understand  why  all  those  alien  eyes 
were  so  persistently  turned  upon  him. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  FIDELIS   AD   URN  AM  !" 

"  Yet  life  I  hold  but  idle  breath 
When  love  or  honor's  weighed  with  death." 

Lady  of  the  Lake. 

AT  the  mines  the  evening  was  far  advanced,  and  the 
snow  was  falling,  covering  the  frozen  rills,  the  weights, 
the  "skiffins,"  the  pretentious  roof  of  the  captain's 
house,  and  the  lean-to  of  the  shanties  with  the  same  white 
mantle  of  beauty  and  softness,  like  God's  dear  bounties 
that  come  to  us  all,  whether  we  deserve  them  or  not. 

Captain  Hollis  had  just  completed  a  tour  of  the 
grounds  with  the  day  supervisor,  and  stood  now  at  the 
edge  of  the  gravel-hills,  nervously  consulting  his  watch 
and  glancing  up  the  road  that  Chester  had  taken  in  the 
morning.  It  was  long  past  the  hour  that  he  should  have 
been  back.  What  could  be  keeping  the  fellow?  The 
captain  had  been  more  than  human  not  to  have  felt  un- 
easy, obliged  as  he  had  been  to  listen  to  his  wife's  specu- 
lations concerning  the  chances  of  Chester's  return  ;  but  it 
is  only  doing  him  justice  to  add  that  it  was  a  very  faint 
doubt  as  yet,  and  an  unwelcome  one,  as  was  evidenced  by 
the  quick  gleam  of  relief  upon  his  features  at  the  sound 
of  distant  horse-hoofs  ringing  down  the  frozen  road. 

"  Heavens,  how  the  fellow  rides  !"  he  ejaculated,  as  the 
sound  advanced.     But  the  horse  swung  round  the  curve 
of  the  wood  at  a  thundering  gallop,  riderless,  with  the 
empty  stirrups  clanging  noisily  against  his  sides  ! 
98 


"FI DELIS  AD    URNAMr 


99 


"Well,  my  dear,  you  would  not  listen  to  me,"  said 
the  captain's  wife,  when  her  husband  burst  into  the  par- 
lor half  wild  with  excitement  and  dismay.  "To  send  a 
stranger  like  that  on  such  an  errand  !  What  could  you 
expect  ?" 

"  Something  has  happened  to  him,  I'd  be  willing  to 
swear;  and  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Milly,  you'd  rather  see  me 
humbugged  ten  times  over  than  risk  the  chance  of  your 
prediction's  failing." 

"How  silly  you  are,  my  dear!"  Milly's  voice  was 
positively  angelic.  "  I  really  think  it  is  very  hard  on 
you  that  you  should  have  to  pay  so  dearly  for  your  cre- 
dulity," enjoying  not  a  little  her  evident  advantage  over 
her  twelvemonth  lord,  the  more  that  he  was  given  to  air- 
ing his  authority  on  certain  occasions.  "  I  only  hope 
you'll  not  have  to  settle  with  the  company  for  Chester's 
delinquencies,"  with  which  last  little  thrust  Mrs.  Milly 
turned  to  her  crocheting  and  sorted  colors  as  indifferently 
as  though  no  such  person  as  Chester  existed  and  large 
checks  were  to  be  cashed  every  day  for  the  depositors. 

"Great  Heavens!  are  there  no  honest  men?"  cried 
the  captain,  nettled  with  anger,  and  a  little  dubious  also 
as  to  the  defence  he  should  be  able  to  make  for  his  im- 
prudence, should  things  occur  according  to  Milly's  proph- 
ecy and  Chester  not  return.  "  Selim  may  have  slipped 
the  bridle  and  come  home  ;  in  that  case  he  will  walk 
from  Huntsville,  and  we  will  see  him  here  by  seven  or 
eight  at  the  farthest." 

But  it  was  a  forlorn  hope  at  best,  and  when  at  last  ten 
o'clock  struck  and  the  lights  were  out  all  over  the  grounds, 
even  that  was  relinquished. 

"Well,  it  is  all  my  own  fault,"  said  this  generous, 
whole-hearted  man.  "  He  warned  me  that  I  had  no  war- 
rant to  trust  him,  and  he  never  meant  to  betray  me.  If 


I0o  IN  SANCHO  PAA'ZA'S  PIT. 

you  could  have  seen  his  face  when  he  accepted  the  job 
you  would  know  that,  Milly.  As  for  the  company,  I  can 
settle  it  with  them ;  but  for  him,  poor  fellow,  I  put  the 
temptation  and  opportunity  in  his  way,  and  they  were  too 
much  for  him,  too  much  for  him,  and  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself." 

After  all,  the  true  Jtest  of  generous  emotion  is  the  readi- 
ness with  which  it  responds  to  a  demand  made  upon  it. 
A  man  may  feel  in  his  heart  a  sudden  glow  of  generosity, 
but  stifle  its  expression  in  a  corresponding  deed,  and  that 
is  like  listening  to  an  exquisite  strain  of  music,  feeling 
the  soul  expand  under  its  harmonizing  influence,  while  the 
body  sits  silent,  giving  no  evidence  of  the  perception  it 
enjoys. 

When  the  Yorick  of  Sterne's  reminiscences  shakes  his 
purse  aloft  as  though  eager  to  share  it  with  the  world,  his 
generous  ardor  receives  an  instant  check  in  the  mendicant 
whine  of  the  Franciscan  monk  at  his  shoulder,  who  is  fain 
to  stand  by  and  see  the  precious  purse  safely  lodged  in  its 
owner's  bosom,  and  himself  supplied  instead  with  an  ex- 
tensive homily  upon  the  wants  and  miseries  of  the  world 
at  large. 

But  in  the  captain's  breast  generosity  was  not  only  an 
emotion  to  be  experienced,  but  one  to  be  expressed.  It 
was  easy  to  say  in  the  morning,  looking  into  his  subord- 
inate's honest-seeming  eyes  and  reading  truth  therein,  if 
ever  he  read  it  in  human  features,  "  I  believe  in  your  hon- 
esty ;"  but  to-night,  with  Selim  come  home  riderless,  with 
appearances  entirely  against  him,  it  was  not  so  easy,  per- 
ha'ps,  to  believe  it,  though  he  did,  as  you  have  seen,  and, 
moreover,  attached  the  greater  burden  of  culpable  error  to 
his  own  shoulders,  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  the  tempter. 

His  rest  was  broken  that  night.  He  awoke  near  dawn 
with  a  strange  sound  in  his  ears,  the  sound  of  Chester's 


"FIDELIS  AD    URNAMT  loi 

voice  calling  faintly,  "Captain!  Captain  Hollis!"  Well, 
it  was  very  natural  that,  under  the  circumstances,  he 
should  dream  about  the  fellow. 

"Captain  !  Captain!" 

This  was  no  continuation  of  his  dreams.  He  was  fairly 
awake  now,  and  sprang  out  of  bed  in  a  trice,  crossed  the 
little  parlor  in  two  or  three  strides,  and  darted  out  into 
the  hall.  He  flung  open  the  door  in  a  fever  of  suspense, 
and  there  on  the  portico,  looking  shadowy  as  a  ghost  in 
the  glimmering  dawn,  stood  Chester. 

"Is  it  you?  Is  it  you?"  grasping  his  hand  and  pulling 
him  into  the  hall;  "thank  God,  my  boy  !"  He  struck 
a  light  in  the  little  parlor  and  turned  to  him  for  an  ex- 
planation of  his  strange  delay,  but  at  sight  of  him  he 
could  only  exclaim  with  dismay. 

Milly,  aroused  by  the  ejaculations,  thrust  her  bare  feet 
into  a  pair*  of  slippers  and  crept  to  the  parlor  door. 
There  was  Chester  lying  back  in  her  own  easy-chair, 
where  yesterday  she  had  uttered  her  nonchalant-  prophe- 
cies concerning  him,  his  lips  blue  and  shaking,  his  eyes 
glazed  and  strained  as  though  rallying  by  one  supreme 
effort  the  forces  of  his  will,  lest  the  mists  of  delirium 
should  blot  out  all  the  familiar  outlines  about  him,  his 
left  arm  hanging  limp  and  nerveless  by  his  side.  She 
went  back  and  dressed  hurriedly,  her  womanly  instincts 
thoroughly  aroused. 

He  told  his  story  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  with 
frequent  pauses,  his  lips  shaking  more  and  more  as  he 
concluded,  the  mists  creeping  gradually  up  over  the  tired 
blue  eyes. 

"  Here  it  is,  captain,  the  money,"  searching  his  breast, 
smiling  the  while  unsteadily,  and  bringing  to  light  the 
package  of  bills  in  their  brown  paper  wrapper.  "  They 
would  have  brought  me,  they  said,  if  I  would  wait  till 

9* 


102  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

daylight ;  but  I  could  not,  I  had  lost  enough  time  as  it 
was,  and  I  knew  what  you  would  be  thinking,  and — and 
— I  could  not  bear  that  /' ' 

11  Milly !  Milly !"  roared  the  captain,  and  Milly,  dressed 
in  the  nick  of  time,  rushed  in.  "See,"  cried  he,  great 
tears  running  down  his  honest  face,  "  see,  he  is  brave  as  a 
lion  and  true  as  steel,  and  I  believe  he  has  killed  himself 
in  his  haste  to  vindicate  his  honor  !" 

And  at  the  sight  of  that  still,  senseless  face,  so  young 
and  yet  so  worn,  Milly  lost  all  suspicion,  all  pique,  and 
all  womanly  zeal  for  the  safety  of  her  prediction. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"JOCELIN    OF    BRAKELAND." 

"  He  smiled  as  men  smile  when  they  will  not  speak, 
Because  of  something  bitter  in  the  thought.1' 

"  Get  leave  to  work 

In  this  world,  'tis  the  best  you  get  at  all." 
Aurora  Leigh. 

THERE  was  but  one  theme  at  the  mines  next  day,  de- 
spite its  being  the  Sabbath  and  the  fact  that  the  rector 
of  a  distant  parish  was  to  hold  service  in  the  little  pine 
structure  on  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  Chester's  errand, 
Chester's  escape,  Chester's  bravery  were  in  every  mouth. 
One  remembered  that  he  had  met  O'Rielly  coming  from 
behind  the  "skiffins,"  near  the  captain's  portico,  at  a 
late  hour  on  Friday  night ;  several  testified  to  having  re- 
marked upon  his  absence  when  the  night-gang  came  down 
the  shaft  to  relieve  the  day-workers ;  the  day  supervisor 
affirmed  that  he  had  exempted  him  from  duty  on  the  plea 
of  sudden  sickness,  and  very  certain  it  was  that  he  had 
been  absent  from  the  grounds  since  noon  the  day  before. 

Chester  was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  "  He  showed  plenty 
of  grit,  for  all  his  white  hands  and  uppish  ways,"  said 
one  of  the  roughest  of  the  men,  and  the  tide  turned  in 
his  favor  steadily. 

Little  recked  Chester  of  what  was  going  on  in  that  mi- 
crocosm, as  the  captain  had  called  it,  outside  the  little 
parlor,  where  he  lay  on  an  improvised  couch,  with  the  vil- 
lage doctor  feeling  his  pulse  and  regarding  gravely  those 

103 


104 


IN  SANCHO   PAJVZA'S  PIT. 


ominous  red  spots  on  his  cheeks  above  the  short  thick 
beard. 

The  long  day  passed  in  utter  unconsciousness  for  him, 
wandering  in  the  mazes  of  disordered  feverish  dreams, 
with  no  single  ray  of  reason  shining  in  his  glittering 
restless  eyes.  Milly's  own,  keen  and  watchful  as  ever,  grew 
dim  as  they  fathomed  some  of  the  secrets  he  had  so  closely 
guarded. 

"  How  he  keeps  searching  about  his  breast  as  though 
he  had  lost  something ;  look,  dear,"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band as  he  entered  the  parlor  after  an  absence  of  a  few 
moments. 

"He  is  thinking  of  the  money,  poor  fellow!"  mur- 
mured the  captain,  bending  over  him  and  pushing  the 
falling  locks  back  from  his  temples.  "  Chester,  my  poor 
lad,  don't  you  know  me?" 

.  But  Chester  gave  no  heed,  only  continued  to  fumble 
about  his  breast  with  his  right  hand,  breathing  the  short 
labored  breaths  of  pain  and  fever. 

"  Do  you  think  he  could  be  hurt  there,  Hugh?  some 
wound  that  the  doctor  did  not  discover?"  suggested 
Milly. 

Whereupon  the  captain  subjected  him  to  a  thorough 
examination.  It  was  not  a  wound  he  found,  but  a  ring 
hung  about  his  neck  by  a  silken  guard,  and  they  looked 
at  each  other  wonderingly  when,  conveying  it  to  his  feebly 
wandering  fingers,  he  clasped  it  eagerly,  and  in  his  vacant 
restless  eyes  a  dreamy  expression  of  content  dawned. 
"Amy!  Amy!" 

"He  has  called  her  all  day,"  whispered  Milly;  "just 
Amy,  all  the  time.  Oh,  if  we  knew  where  to  find  her, 

Hugh,  and  it  is  her  ring  he  hides  !" 

********* 

A  serious  time  Chester  had  of  it  for  days,  while  his 


"  JOCELIN  OF  BRAKELAND."  IO5 

fever  ran  high  and  the  doctor  talked  gravely  of  gangrene, 
looking  at  the  great  red  jagged  wound  in  his  left  arm, — 
a  serious  time,  but,  aided  by  his  strong  and  vigorous  con- 
stitution, and  nursed  constantly  by  the  captain's  wife  in 
her  own  little  parlor,  from  whence  they  had  never  at- 
tempted to  remove  him,  slowly  Chester  came  round 
again,  very  slowly  and  feebly,  for  the  strain  upon  his 
powers,  both  physical  and  mental,  had  been  long  and  se- 
vere, and  nature  was  demanding  a  penalty  for  his  disregard 
of  some  of  her  most  stringent  exactions.  The  keen  black 
eyes  of  the  captain's  wife,  which  he  had  once  dreaded  to 
encounter,  and  which  even  now  aroused  in  him  a  vague 
suspicion  that  they  were  piercing  some  of  his  disguises, 
were  ever  vigilant  where  his  comfort  was  concerned,  and 
unfailing  to  detect  the  first  signs  of  approaching  fatigue 
or  unrest,  and  with  her  ever  kind  and  ready  hands  prompt 
in  administering  the  remedy,  she  won  his  gratitude  long 
before  he  gave  her  his  confidence. 

As  Chester  grew  stronger  it  became  a  pleasure  to  him 
to  watch  her  flitting  about  his  room.  She  was  sharp 
and  self-assertive,  but  very  fresh  and  pretty,  by  right  of 
her  royal  dower  of  youth  and  happiness,  and  he  did  not 
pause  to  consider  that  the  sharpness  might  degenerate  into 
acidity,  the  self-assertiveness  into  shrewishness,  with  the 
years;  while  her  husband,  to  whom  she  was  genuinely  de- 
voted, was  of  too  careless  and  easy-going  a  nature  to  ex- 
ercise the  necessary  restraint  over  her  faults,  so  that  there 
was  nothing  to  hope  for  from  his  influence. 

Like  Jocelin  of  Brakeland,  the  genial  captain  of  the 
mines  was  "  a  grown  man  with  the  heart  of  a  good  child." 
In  all  the  little  mining  colony  there  was  not  one,  man, 
woman,  or  child,  in  whom  he  did  not  discover  some  rare 
distinguishing  trait  worthy  of  the  highest  admiration,  and 
in  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  way  that  you  would  never  have 


106  /A'  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

suspected,  he  found  means  of  serving  them  each  in  the 
peculiar  way  best  adapted  to  his  nature,  and,  from  the 
day  supervisor  to  the  humblest  worker  underground,  all 
loved  and  respected  our  "  Cap'n."  Like  most  men  of  his 
mould,  with  a  modicum  of  what  the  world  calls  talent,  he 
owned  a  rare  power  of  judgment  and  simple  habit  of  di- 
rectness that  eminently  fitted  him  for  the  position  he  held 
in  the  company's  service. 

He  came  in  one  evening  when  Chester,  promoted  to  the 
dignity  of  pillows  and  an  arm-chair,  was  looking  almost 
like  himself  in  the  flattering  glow  from  the  hearth ;  came 
in  rubbing  his  hands  vigorously,  and  stamping  his  feet  in 
a  manner  intensely  suggestive  of  the  pleasure  of  indoor 
warmth,  as  contrasted  with  the  winter  night  outside. 

"Eh,  Chester,  enjoying  poor  health?  as  the  girl  said 
in  the  Sunday-school  book  Milly  was  crying  over  last  week. 
Milly  is  a  prime  little  nurse,  eh?  Whew!  but  'tis  cold 
out,  you've  no  idea,"  standing  with  his  back  to  the  grate  and 
gathering  the  frock  of  his  coat  in  front  of  him.  "Queer 
lot  we  have  here,  Chester,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  with 
that  benign  look  of  satisfaction  in  his  eyes  that  Chester 
had  grown  to  understand  and  enjoy.  "  I  stopped  at  the 
lodge  on  my  way  up  to  see  Gough  about  the  loads,  and 
there  was  Jim,  Stable  Jim,  you  know,  crying  with  frosted 
feet,  and  Mrs.  Gough  down  on  her  knees  feathering  'em 
with  turpentine,  and  the  potatoes  frying  for  supper  just 
ready  to  burn,  so  Gough  said,  if  he  hadn't  gone  to  the 
rescue.  Bless  my  soul !  I  don't  know  when  I  had  any- 
thing to  touch  me  so, — Gough  lookin'  so  ashamed  of  help- 
ing his  wife,  and  that  old  shrew  mothering  Stable  Jim 
as  though  he'd  been  her  own.  Riff-raff  and  all  that,  you 
know,  Chester,  but  touch  them  in  the  right  place  and 
there  they  are!"  And  the  captain  pointed  with  such 
earnestness  in  front  of  him,  that  one  might  have  supposed 


"  yOCELIN  OF  BRAKELAND."  107 

Gough,  his  wife,  and  Stable  Jim  to  have  been  directly 
within  the  range  of  his  vision. 

"Ah,  but  not  every  one  could  touch  them  in  the  right 
place,  captain  ;  it  is  not  given  to  any  but  the  most  skilled 
artisan  to  detect  the  joints  in  the  armor,"  said  Chester, 
looking  up  from  his  bolstering  pillows  with  a  gentle  smile 
on  his  thin  face.  "  Humanity  is  like  the  snail,  I  often 
think :  prick  it  with  the  pin-points  of  curiosity  and  per- 
sistence and  it  resolutely  withdraws  into  its  shell,  but 
give  it  the  sunlight  of  confidence,  the  warmth  of  trust, 
and  see  how  soon  it  comes  creeping  out  to  bask  in  its 
rays." 

"True  enough,"  and  the  captain  dropped  his  coat- 
frock  to  stroke  his  beard  complacently.  Thus  he  stood 
for  a  while,  evidently  pondering  some  weighty  thoughts, 
then  went  over  to  where  Chester  leaned  among  his  pil- 
lows. "My  lad,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  heavily  on 
the  sick  man's  shoulder,  "  you  won't  deny  I've  given  you 
my  confidence  and  trust,  and  I  won't  deny  that  you've 
paid  me  well  for  my  faith  in  you,  but  I  am  afraid  you  will 
accuse  me  of  pricking  your  snail-shell  with  pins  if  I  ask 
you  an  honest  question,  boy." 

"Ask  what  you  please,  captain,"  but  he  felt  the 
shoulder  under  his  hand  flinch  ;  "  you  have  a  right  to  ask, 
only  you  will  not  be  displeased  with  me  if  I  cannot  answer." 

"So  you  give  me  credit  for  curiosity  only  !"  and  the 
captain  laughed  his  broad,  good-humored  laugh,  while 
Milly,  sitting  at  the  window  to  catch  the  failing  light  upon 
her  work,  gathered  it  up  and  made  a  motion  to  leave  the 
room. 

"Stay,  Mrs.  Hollis,  will  you  not?"  pleaded  Chester, 
whose  quick  eyes  had  caught  the  movement. 

"Yes,  stay,  Milly,"  echoed  the  captain.  "I  have 
nothing  to  ask  Chester  concerning  the  secrets  he  chooses 


108  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

to  guard,  they  do  not  in  the  least  concern  me ;  what  I 
do  want  to  know  is  what  he  means  to  do  in  the  future, 
if  he  has  any  prospects  or  any  friends  to  whose  influ- 
ence he  can  trust.  Why,  boy,  you  don't  expect  to  go 
back  to  work  on  the  grounds ;  it  was  slowly  killing  you 
before,  and  now  with  that  disabled  arm  you  look  like 
handling  a  shovel  or  loading  the  weights." 

He  turned  to  him  almost  fiercely,  this  gentle-hearted 
Jocelin,  who  could  not  bear  to  see  a  dog  suffer  a  pang  that 
might  be  allayed  ;  for  there  was  a  dumb  expression  of  dis- 
may mingled  with  some  other  emotion  that  he  could  not 
fathom  in  the  blue  eyes  of  "  the  lad." 

"  And  is  there  no  work  here  that  I  can  do?" 

The  captain  fell  to  stroking  his  beard  again,  and  Milly 
sewed  on  in  the  fading  light,  but  it  was  growing  too  dark 
to  see,  and  she  pricked  her  fingers  sadly. 

"Captain,"  said  Chester  at  length,  sitting  upright  in 
his  chair  and  shifting  his  disabled  arm  to  an  easier  posi- 
tion ;  "  captain,  I  have  no  friends,  no  plans,  no  prospects. 
I  had  a  blind  belief  once  in  that  influence  men  called  fate, 
but  I  know  now  that  fate  in  this  life  is  but  the  working 
out  of  our  own  impulses,  good  or  bad.  In  fact,  I  have 
proven  myself  a  humbug  out  and  out.  That  evening  that 
I  started  on  my  way  home  from  Huntsville,  with  your 
money  in  my  breast,  I  told  myself  that  my  fate  was  an 
evil  one,  because  I  had  commenced  with  succumbing  to 
an  evil  impulse  at  the  outset.  I  chose  to  follow  the  lead 
of  that  impulse  and  make  it  my  fate.  But  I  was  far  from 
realizing  that  then.  Even  God  seemed  against  me.  I 
know  my  mood  was  morbid,  but  I  had  suffered  so  much 
from  the  result  of  my  error  that  I  had  lost  the  power  of 
judging  clearly.  I  told  myself  that  I  could  not  live.  I 
asked  God  to  shorten  my  miserable  life,  and  on  that  lonely 
bleak  road  I  taxed  Him  with  injustice.  Well,  He  showed 


"  JOCELIN  OF  BRAKELAND"  ^9 

me  then  how  little  I  knew  my  own  heart  after  all,  for 
when  O'Reilly  threatened  my  life  with  annihilation,  I 
found  suddenly  that  it  was  of  invaluable  price  to  me.  Great 
heavens,  how  I  fought,  like  a  fiend,  for  life  after  all  was 
dear  to  me  !  I  used  to  prate  finely  of  energy  and  deter- 
mination and  the  surmounting  of  obstacles  on  the  road 
to  success  when  I  owned  all  those  vaunted  advantages, — 
friends,  influence,  prospects.  I  will  see  if  I  am  as  strong 
to  fight  in  the  face  of  impossibilities  as  I  once  idly  dreamed 
I  was." 

"Well,  you  must  get  some  physical  strength,  boy,  be- 
fore you  set  to  testing  your  powers,"  speaking  bluffly  to 
hide  his  emotions ;  "  mean  time  we'll  see  what  we  can  do 
for  you  here." 

"You  are  not  in  a  position  to  judge  me,  knowing,  as 
you  do,  nothing  of  my  life,"  he  resumed.  "  I  shall  bear 
like  an  incubus  all  my  days  the  terrible  consequence  of 
my  sin  ;  not  for  a  moment  shall  I  be  able  to  shift  its 
weight ;  I  am  doomed  to  perpetual  exile  on  account  of  it, 
to  a  living  death  as  far  as  all  those  are  concerned  whom 
I  have  known  and  loved."  And  as  he  spoke  his  face 
grew  ghastly,  and  drops  of  moisture  stood  on  his  forehead. 
"  But  God,  who  sees  all  things,  who  pierces  the  most  hid- 
den motives,  looks  into  my  naked  human  heart  and  sees  it 
guiltless  of  the  intention  to  have  committed  such  a  crime ; 
yes,  even  when  I  followed  the  impulse  that  led  me  into 
temptation  I  was  ignorant  as  you  are  of  what  the  result 
would  be." 

"I  can  believe  that!  I  can  believe  that,  my  lad!" 
cried  his  simple  friend. 

"  I  have  no  blame  to  cast  upon  any  living  creature  but 
myself,"  he  concluded;  "but  I  shall  no  longer  be  able 
to  cheat  myself.  The  life  that  I  fought  O'Reilly  so  wildly 
for  must  be  turned  to  some  account,  if  I  would  retain  a 

10 


no  'IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

single  morsel  of  respect  for  myself.  Oh,  my  friends,"  he 
cried,  after  a  moment  of  exhaustion,  in  which  Milly  held 
a  draught  of  strong  cordial  to  his  lips  and  tenderly  wiped 
the  drops  from  his  forehead  with  her  own  little  embroi- 
dered handkerchief,  "  it  is  bitter  to  feel  that  there  is  no 
purification  for  one's  sins,  no  atonement  that  will  avail, 
either  in  this  world  or  the  next.  It  makes  the  travail  and 
the  toil  of  life  seem  mere  thankless  tasks  !" 

"  Can  he  have  forged  a  note?"  whispered  Milly  to  her 
husband  that  night. 

"Forged  a  note!"  in  high  indignation,  echoed  the 
gentle  Jocelin  ;  "  it  looks  like  it,  a  man  who  would  risk  his 
life  to  save  a  stranger's  money  entrusted  to  his  hands  !" 

"Could  it  have  been  MMtn&rthen?"  in  a  still  more 
subdued  whisper  queried  the  captain's  undaunted  wife. 
"What  other  crimes  would  entail  such  consequences  as 
those  he  hinted  at  this  evening?" 

And  the  captain,  remembering  his  tender  care  of  the 
cart-horse,  the  gentle  hand  with  which  he  stroked  the 
leanest  cur  in  the  colony,  felt  additional  anger  at  the 
suggestion.  "It  is  queer,"  was  his  final  remark  to  his 
wife,  "queer  as  sticks!"  though  what  particular  sticks 
the  captain  meant  to  describe  I  shall  have  to  leave  to 
your  imagination;  "but,  whatever  it  is,  the  poor  fellow 
went  into  it  blindfolded,  and  it  seems  a  rank  injustice  for 
him  to  have  to  suffer  the  penalty." 

But  then,  as  Chester  had  observed,  the  captain  was  not 
in  a  position  to  judge. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Chester,"  he  said  next  day, 
when  the  invalid  had  finished  his  late  breakfast  and  been 
helped  into  the  easy-chair  again,  "  we  need  a  clerk  at  the 
commissary.  Inskiphas  enough  to  do  with  the  books  and 
helping  the  day  supervisor  at  his  rounds.  Suppose  you 
take  that  for  a  while,  old  fellow,  when  you  get  strong 


"  JOCEL1N  Of  BRAKELAND."  Itl 

again  ;  'tisn't  the  pleasantest  job  in  the  world,  but  there 
is  no  rough  hard  work.  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  lad, 
Milly  and  I  have  grown  so  used  to  you, — haven't  we, 
Milly  ? — that  we  are  loath  to  give  you  up ;  there's  that 
little  room  above  the  hall,  snug  and  tight,  suppose  you 
just  call  that  your  own  and  stay  on  with  us,  my  boy." 

Chester  threw  up  his  hand  with  a  passionate  gesture, 
clutching  the  collar  at  his  throat  as  though  it  were  chok- 
ing him.  "  I  don't  deserve  it,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice  ; 
"  I  have  forfeited  all  claim  to  a  home,  and  that  is  what  you 
offer.  Oh,  God  bless  you  both  !" 

Milly  escaped  into  her  bedroom,  and  the  captain  went 
out  the  front  door,  stumbling  over  the  "  skiffins"  by  rea- 
son of  the  dimness  of  his  eyesight,  as  if  that  dazzling 
mountain,  like  Aladdin's  palace,  had  been  reared  in  a 
single  night. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

PERSEPHONE. 

"  Regret,  Remorse,  Shame;  three 
Hell-hounds  that  ever  dog  my 
Steps  and  bay  at  my  heels." 

Robert  Burns  Letters. 

"  Her  looks  were  like  a  flower  in  May, 
Her  smile  was  like  a  summer  morn.'' 

ROBERT  BURNS. 

IT  was  Sunday  at  the  mines,  a  beautiful  June  Sunday ; 
the  little  rills  ran  sparkling  from  the  tank,  the  great  pipes 
dripped  sleepily  and  monotonously,  the  gravel-hills  shone 
white  as  Albion's  cliffs  in  the  sunlight,  and  out  from  the 
miners'  shanties  freshly-dressed  men  and  women  were  fol- 
lowed by  chubby-faced,  laughing  children  on  their  way  to 
afternoon  service  in  the  Gothic  chapel  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood. 

Peaceful  and  picturesque  looked  the  noisy  work-day 
miners  on  this  Sunday.  The  branches  of  the  huge  old 
trees  were  stirring  with  soft  breezes,  a  balmy  odor  was 
afloat  in  the  air  from  the  wild  pink  honeysuckles  that  were 
blooming  so  profusely  in  the  wood,  and  that  filled  every 
fireplace  in  the  colony  with  color  and  fragrance.  Be- 
tween the  woodland  aisles  there  were  to  be  had  bewitch- 
ing glimpses  of  pasture  land  and  wide  fields  waving  with 
the  emerald  green  of  the  growing  wheat. 

Leaning  against  a  mammoth  oak-tree  near  the  engine- 
house,  with  a  book  open  upon  his  knee,  sat  the  clerk  of 
the  commissary.  He  was  not  reading,  his  eyes  were  fol- 

112 


PERSEPHONE.  l  x  3 

lowing  the  circling  course  of  some  swallows  seeking  quar- 
ters in  the  chimneys  of  the  captain's  house.  The  cart- 
man,  with  his  promotion  to  the  post  of  clerk  at  the  com- 
missariat, had  assumed  some  of  the  habits  of  a  gentleman. 
Instead  of  the  dark  ill-fitting  clothes,  he  wore  a  light  suit 
of  tweed,  and  the  whiteness  of  his  linen,  the  conventional 
set  of  his  necktie,  proclaimed  him  quite  within  the  pale  of 
gentility  again.  No  need  to  adopt  the  guise  of  a  work- 
man any  longer,  for  the  colony  looked  up  to  him  ungrudg- 
ingly nowadays ;  indeed,  there  had  been  a  tacit  understand- 
ing between  them  since  that  cold  winter  morning  when, 
more  dead  than  alive,  he  had  presented  himself  at  the 
captain's  door  with  the  money  hidden  in  his  breast.  He 
had  been  "le  chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche"  ever 
since  to  them. 

As  he  sat  there,  following  with  his  eyes  the  gyrations  of 
the  swallows  above  the  chimneys,  his  thoughts  flew  off  in 
a  wild  flight  of  their  own.  The  book  on  his  knee  was  a 
much-tattered  brown  volume  of  Ovid.  He  had  been 
reading  it  with  a  faint  sense  of  the  likeness  in  his  own  to 
the  fate  of  the  Latin  poet.  His  heart,  always  sensitive  to 
the  slightest  suggestion  of  memory,  drew  a  dreary  com- 
parison as  he  sat  there  with  the  vagrant  breezes  lifting  his 
hair,  and  the  scent  of  the  pink  honeysuckles  smiting  his 
senses.  At  desolate  Tomi,  on  the  wild  Euxine  shore, 
where  no  flowers  grew,  no  birds  ever  sang,  where  the  very 
sun  itself  shone  but  fitfully  through  the  gray  misty  clouds, 
the  Augustan  poet  had  dragged  his  existence  through  long 
years,  pining  in  vain  for  the  golden  skies  of  his  beloved 
Italy  and  the  familiar  beauty  of  the  garden  near  the 
Flaminian  way,  where  in  his  happy  youth  he  had  loved 
and  sung.  But  he  pined  in  vain,  for  the  recall  never 
came ;  amid  the  pomp  of  the  Augustan  court  the  name 
of  the  once  favored  poet  was  never  mentioned,  and  he 

10* 


II4  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

who  had  won  their  applause  at  the  fasti,  whose  songs  had 
lent  a  charm  to  the  most  triumphant  occasions  in  those 
royal  days  of  his  prosperity,  was  doomed  never  again  to 
see  the  beauty  of  his  native  land,  and  dying,  in  a  desolate 
old  age,  was  buried  in  the  alien  Scythian  soil,  afar  from  all 
he  had  loved  so  faithfully  and  vainly.  Those  plaintive 
appeals  of  the  Tristia,  those  mournful  memories,  those 
pining  barren  regrets  found  an  all  too  faithful  echo  in  his 
own  heart,  himself  an  exile,  now  and  forever  ! 

But  the  likeness  soon  ended,  for  the  poet  had  never  de- 
served the  misery  of  his  exile.  Condemned  by  a  tyrant 
king,  to  suit  his  own  ends,  the  poor  mourner  of  the  Tristia 
never  knew  what  he  had  to  expiate.  And  for  him  ex- 
piation was  unavailing,  for  him  there  was  no  escape,  as 
there  had  been  none  for  Orestes  when  the  relentless  Eu- 
menedean  chorus  pursued  him  sleeping  or  waking.  He 
checked  the  maddening  torrent  of  thought  by  a  supreme 
effort  of  will,  flinging  his  arm  aloft,  as  of  the  soul  within 
him  making  a  mute  protest  against  the  burden  that  the 
body  imposed  upon  it.  "Foul!  foul!"  he  groaned. 
"  Oh,  my  God  !  what  would  I  not  give  if  to-day  I  could 
lift  up  clean  hands  to  Thee  ?" 

Absorbed  in  his  bitter  thoughts,  his  ear  had  taken  no 
note  of  the  sounds  about  him, — the  smooth  bowling  of 
carriage-wheels  down  the  graded  road  that  led  from  the 
village,  nor  the  rustling  of  footsteps  among  the  last  year's 
leaves  that  filled  the  wood-paths.  So  he  started,  letting 
the  little  brown  volume  of  the  Tristia  fall  to  the  ground, 
when  a  strange  voice  accosted  him,  and  he  found  himself 
confronted  by  a  party  of  people,  evidently  come  on  a 
Sunday  tour  of  the  grounds. 

"  Will  you  kindly  introduce  us  to  the  captain  ?"  asked 
the  owner  of  the  voice,  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  pair  of 
keen  eyes  and  salt-and-pepper  whiskers. 


PERSEPHONE.  H5 

Chester  stooped  for  his  hat,  his  heart  beating  rapidly. 
It  made  a  part  of  his  punishment  that  he  should  dread  to 
find  in  every  stranger  some  acquaintance  of  his  old  life. 

"  Captain  Hollis  is  with  his  wife  at  service,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  if  you  come  to  inspect  the  works  I  will  show  you 
around  with  pleasure,  and  it  will  not  be  long  until  service 
is  over." 

The  gentleman  accepted  his  offer  with  a  polite  bow, 
noting  his  embarrassment  as  a  very  natural  emotion,  and 
following  him  with  the  rest  of  the  party  into  the  engine- 
house.  There,  during  a  pause  in  his  explanation,  Chester 
inspected  them,  and  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  when  he 
found  all  the  faces  unfamiliar. 

Besides  the  gentleman  who  had  spoken  were  two  ladies, 
one  exceedingly  frail  in  appearance, — a  young  gentleman 
scrupulously  dressed  and  a  girl  wearing  a  riding-habit. 
It  was  at  this  girl  that  Chester  looked  more  than  once, 
seeing  so  much  that  was  distinctive  about  her  that,  with 
his  usual  habit  of  satisfying  his  judgment,  he  made  a  vain 
effort  to  understand  in  what  it  consisted.  She  intercepted 
his  searching  glance  with  a  quick  flash  of  those  large  bril- 
liant eyes  of  hers.  Such  eyes  !  imperious,  level  lidded, 
and  black  as  night.  Surely  they  would  exhaust  her  very 
life  some  day  with  the  demands  they  made  for  constant 
light  and  warmth  and  beauty. 

"  Were  you  not  reading  the  Tristia  ?"  she  asked,  speak- 
ing to  him  for  the  first  time. 

The  young  man  who  was  carrying  her  riding-whip 
touched  her  arm.  She  drew  away  from  him  impatiently. 
"Don't,  Alfred,"  she  said,  with  the  petulant  manner  of 
a  spoiled  child  ;  "  you  don't  know  how  odious  you  are 
when  you  squint.  I  am  reminded  irresistibly  of  the  origin 
of  the  word  and  its  corruption  nowadays.  '  View  of  holy 
things'  indeed  !  Imagine  in  those  mediaeval  days  the  little 


!l6  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

hole  in  the  gallery  and  the  reverent  eyes  that  peeped 
through  at  the  great  ceremony  of  the  sacrifice  !" 

"  Call  it  by  some  other  name  then,  coz  ;  but  whatever 
you  do  don't  forget  yourself,"  he  answered  in  an  undertone. 

"Small  fear  of  my  doing  that,"  she  answered,  with  a 
half-sneer  that  made  her  young  face  very  cold  and  unsym- 
pathetic; then  she  turned  to  the  guide.  "Was  it  the 
Tristia  you  were  reading  ?"  A  flickering  color  came  and 
went  in  her  cheeks. 

"It  was,"  said  Chester,  standing  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand. 

"And  you  enjoy  it  ?" 

"No." 

"Ah  !  why,  then,  do  you  read  it?" 

"To  learn  how  men  have  suffered  and  endured." 

The  brilliant  color  leaps  up  anew  in  her  cheeks. 
"  Few  read  Ovid  for  the  lessons  he  teaches,"  she  said, 
demurely. 

"  Julia !"  It  was  the  voice  of  the  delicate  lady,  slightly 
elevated  and  vibrant  with  well-bred  horror. 

"Coming,  mamma!"  And  she  turned,  gathering  up 
the  folds  of  her  riding-skirt,  and  throwing  him  a  half- 
laughing,  half-defiant  glance  over  her  shoulder.  "It  is 
the  Heroides  you  should  read  for  its  lessons,"  she  said, 
in  tones  which  bore  a  covert  sneer. 

"  My  dear  Julia  !"  This  time  it  was  the  young  exqui- 
site, Alfred  of  the  "squint." 

"Don't  bother,  Alfred  !"  cried  the  self-willed  demoi- 
selle of  the  riding-skirt.  "If  I  thought  there  was  the 
smallest  hope  of  your  benefiting  thereby,  I  would  advise 
you  to  a  diligent  study  of  '  De  Remedio  Amoris,'  by  the 
same  author,  only  I  can't  consign  you  to  depths  in  which 
you  would  flounder  miserably  !" 

The  delicate  lady  looked  at  her  companion,  shook  her 


PERSEPHONE. 


117 


head,  and  sighed  lugubriously.  Alfred  switched  his  trou- 
sers with  the  riding-whip  he  carried,  and  betrayed  his 
discomfort  in  an  ill-concealed  flush  that  stole  up  to  his 
Hyperian  curls.  But  the  middle-aged  man  of  the  salt-and- 
pepper  whiskers  looked  over  at  the  girl  warningly,  albeit 
his  keen  eyes  were  brimming  over  with  laughter.  She 
went  over  to  his  side,  and  Chester  heard  her  say,  with  that 
brilliant  flickering  color  in  her  face, — 

"  Nonsense,  papa  !  he  is  only  mystified  ;  do  you  think 
he  has  the  most  distant  idea  of  what  I  meant?  Not  a  bit 
of  it !  Alfred  possesses  an  cegis  in  his — obtuseness." 

Chester  led  the  way  over  the  grounds,  half-angered  at 
the  mockery  in  that  sweet  silvery  voice. 

Captain  Hollis  and  Milly  returning  from  service  en- 
countered the  party  at  the  mouth  of  the  shaft.  Chester 
introduced  his  captain,  glad  to  be  absolved  from  a  duty 
that  was  growing  momentarily  more  distasteful  to  him, 
and  he  turned  back  with  Milly.  But  they  had  scarcely 
reached  the  gate  beyond  the  hills  of  gravel  when  the  cap- 
tain's voice  was  heard  on  the  other  side,  and  in  a  moment 
he  emerged  into  view,  accompanied  by  the  young  lady  in 
the  riding-habit. 

She  had  taken  it  into  her  wilful  head  to  go  underground, 
and  the  captain,  inwardly  disgusted  with  his  own  weak- 
ness, had  brought  her  to  Milly  for  some  protective  dis- 
guise. 

"They  are  visitors  in  the  neighborhood,  Chester,"  he 
said  to  his  clerk  when  the  two  had  disappeared  indoors, 
"and  they  leave  to-morrow,  or  I  should  never  consent 
to  their  going  below  to-day.  The  Vosburghs,  from  New 
York,  visiting  the  Courtneys.  They  are  fine  people ;  he 
is  a  banker  on  Wall  Street ;  my  brother  has  had  dealings 
with  them.  That  black -eyed  young  witch  is  their  daugh- 
ter, and  the  delicate-looking  woman  his  wife.  What  an 


n8  IN  SANCffO   PANZAS  PIT. 

unmitigated  young  fop  Alfred  Courtney  is,  and  that  little 
imp  quips  him  unmercifully.  Ah,  here  they  come.  Ju- 
piter! ain't  she  pretty?" 

"She  looks  like  Clarchen,"  said  Chester. 

And  she  did  make  a  very  piquant  Clarchen  in  one  of 
Milly's  short  linen  morning  dresses,  with  a  fanciful  cap  of 
Milly's  pinned  over  her  dusky  braids. 

"  Persephone  returning  to  the  shades  !"  she  cried  gayly, 
"  only  I  will  come  back,  good  people,  for  I  have  not  eaten 
of  the  pomegranate  seeds,"  laughing  up  into  Milly's  mysti- 
fied face,  not  observing  how  "that  remarkable-looking 
guide,"  as  she  had  called  him  to  her  father,  was  flushing 
as  he  looked  at  her.  The  captain  and  Milly  were  not  in 
the  secret,  neither  being  mythologically  posted,  so  to 
speak,  but  it  was  to  Chester  the  language  of  his  past. 

She  threw  him  an  audacious  quizzical  glance  en  passant. 
"You  read  the  Tristia?  well,  so  do  I ;  and  it  is  not  often 
that  a  girl  reads  the  Tristia,  but  not  for  the  lesson,  never  ! 
What  has  youth  to  do  with  remorse  and  regret  and  shame  ? 
Au  revoir!" 

"  Goodness !"  ejaculated  Milly,  when  they  passed  around 
the  "  skiffins,"  "what  a  queer  girl !  and  she  can't  be  over 
sixteen." 

"Chester,"  said  the  captain  at  supper,  "that  odd  little 
lady  sent  you  a  message.  She  said  I  should  tell  you 
that  she  had  picked  up  your  book  where  you  let  it  fall, 
and  would  keep  it  as  a  souvenir  of  her  visit  to  the  mines. 
She  said  you  would  not  miss  it  as  you  did  not  care  for  it, 
and  if  ever  you  should  meet  in  the  future  you  should  claim 
your  own  price  for  it." 

Chester  laughed  with  some  surprise.  Milly  expressed 
strong  disapprobation  of  the  action:  "She  is  a  born 
flirt ;  why,  my  dear,  she  regularly  ogled  Chester,  she  did 
indeed.  I  can't  think  how  girls  can  be  so  bold  !" 


PERSEPHONE. 


119 


Chester  spoke  then  : '  "  It  did  not  seem  boldness  to  me, 
Mrs.  Hollis ;  she  had  a  brusque,  original  way  about  her 
that  was  most  unusual,  and  a  too  slight  regard  for  the  feel- 
ings of  others  perhaps,  but  she  is  so  young!"  and  then 
Chester  fell  into  a  revery,  as  was  usual  with  him,  with  that 
half-smile,  sad  and  wholly  perplexing,  on  his  face. 

"  Well,  what's  your  idea,  my  lad?"  The  captain  was 
regarding  him  with  his  broad  genial  smile. 

"  I  have  strange  fancies,  captain,  sometimes,  and  to-day 
that  bright,  fearless  face  filled  me  with  a  vague  sort  of 
pity.  There  was  so  much  that  was  contradictory  in  its 
expressions.  If  the  tenderness  of  those  eyes  do  not  tri- 
umph over  their  imperiousness,  she  has  scant  chance  of 
a  happy  future." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Chester,  I  don't  know;  you  are 
apt  to  be  fanciful,  my  lad,"  said  the  honest  captain, 
taking  refuge  in  the  commonplace.  Milly  said  nothing  ; 
she  not  only  did  not  know,  she  did  not  understand. 
Chester  often  talked  in  enigmas  to  her. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"WITCH   FINGERS." 

"  My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own." 
GOLDSMITH. 

AFTER  the  same  fashion  the  months  went  on  at  the 
mines.  Chester  at  the  commissary  was  faithful  to  his  trust, 
as  he  had  been  on  that  winter  evening  in  the  frozen  wood- 
land road  when  he  had  fought  with  O'Rielly  for  his  life 
and  for  his  employer's  money.  If  weighing  out  sugar  and 
measuring  quarts  of  kerosene  did  not  quite  comprehend 
his  ideal  of  life  and  its  possibilities,  it  at  least  afforded 
him  an  honest  means  of  livelihood,  and  he  had  not  earned 
the  right  to  be  fastidious. 

As  from  the  outset,  he  was  quiet  and  reserved  among 
the  miners,  but  they  had  since  his  adventure  with 
O'Rielly  yielded  him  a  willing  respect,  and  he  numbered 
among  the  younger  men  some  very  warm  adherents.  But 
amid  this  prosperity  which  he  did  not  deserve,  amid  the 
comforts  of  his  home  at  the  captain's,  came  ever  the  haunt- 
ing regret  of  his  past,  and  memory  kept  his  eyes  hollow 
and  weary. 

Some  days,  sitting  behind  the  low  counter  of  the  com- 
missary, with  the  odors  of  tobacco  and  coal  oil  and  mo- 
lasses all  about  him,  with  the  light  entering  dimly  through 
the  small  panes  of  the  two  windows,  barricaded  by  narrow 
shelves  of  candy-jars  filled  with  mint-sticks,  sour-drops,  and 
brown  taffy,  he  would  ask  himself  with  a  sort  of  incredu- 

120 


"  WITCH   FINGERS."  I2i 

lous  wonder  if  this  life  he  was  living  could  be  real.  To 
have  barely  contemplated  such  a  possibility  in  the  old 
days  would  have  sent  a  shudder  through  his  entire  body. 
That  it  was  real  he  had  the  evidences  of  his  senses ;  and 
he  was  not  only  meeting  it,  bearing  it,  braving  it,  but 
accepting  it  with  a  feeling  of  devout  thankfulness  as  far 
beyond  his  just  deserts.  Such  latent  resources  do  we,  each 
and  every  one  of  us,  bear  within  us  with  which  to  meet 
the  reverses  of  life. 

And  yet  there  were  days  when  his  mind  revolted  at  the 
monotonous  details  of  his  work  as  too  utterly  disgusting 
to  endure ;  days  of  weighing  sugar,  of  drawing  molasses, 
of  counting  out  sticks  of  candy  to  the  dirty-faced  urchins, 
and  of  sweeping  the  floor,  making  the  fire,  and  dusting 
the  bales  and  boxes  in  the  miserable  dingy  room.  He 
was  young  and  very  human  and  fastidious  to  the  heart's 
core ;  it  must  be  forgiven  him  that  occasionally  he  forgot 
his  forfeited  claims  upon  humanity,  and  chafed  at  what 
in  his  moment  of  clear,  calm  judgment  he  acknowledged 
to  be  far  above  anything  he  had  a  right  to  expect.  Such 
moments  of  forgetfulness  were  rare  indeed,  poor  lad,  and 
for  them  he  paid  a  heavy  price,  as  one  might  have  read  in 
the  hollow,  weary  eyes,  in  the  haggard  lines  on  his  young 
worn  face. 

But  thoughts  of  his  past  obtended  ever  as  he  sat  in  the 
dingy  shop  or  walked  to  his  meals  at  the  captain's ;  and 
the  faces  of  those  who  were  dear  to  him  looked  out  from 
every  winding  in  the  familiar  grounds.  He  pondered 
upon  them  sadly, — 

"  Did  they  feel  how  the  moments  were  going, 
Were  they  weary  or  slow?" 

In  his  thoughts,  as  in  his  heart,  there  was  one  memory 
that  had  a  niche  to  itself,  and  his  waking  dreams  became 

ii 


122  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

almost  tangible,  devoted  to  that  memory.  He  lived  in 
them  as  in  a  real  present,  the  delusion  ofttimes  so  perfect, 
so  alluring  as  to  afford  him  for  the  moment  a  solid  joy,  a 
sort  of  unreasoning  delight.  But  he  would  awaken  ;  ah, 
yes,  he  would  awaken  soon.  Vain  were  these  happy 
dreams  of  a  prodigal  past,  for  the  past  was  dead,  a  putrid 
body  bound  to  his  own  with  clanking  chains,  that,  willing 
or  not,  he  was  doomed  to  drag  along  through  all  the  years 
of  the  future. 

The  miners'  wives  came  and  went  with  their  coal-oil 
cans,  their  baskets  of  eggs  and  butter,  and  wondered 
among  themselves  what  kept  "t'clerk"  so  thin  and  the 
shadows  beneath  his  eyes  so  heavy.  "If  he  ain't  goin' 
into  consumption  I  don't  know  t'signs,"  suggested  the 
lodge  mistress,  Mrs.  Gough.  "  Poor  lad'n,  he'll  have 
naught  'o  say  on  the  subjec',  and  shakes  his  head  when 
I'd'vise  Pulmona,  and  for  all  his  stiff  ways  ther'  ain't  no 
huppishness  about  him."  With  which  rather  disjointed 
sentences  Mrs.  Gough  usually  dismissed  "  t'clerk"  from 
her  mind  and  proceeded  to  look  over  her  purchases. 

September  was  waning  now ;  the  nights  were  growing 
almost  cold  here  in  the  shadow  of  the  woodland.  Sep- 
tember, and  Chester  had  come  to  a  landmark,  bearing  in 
graven  letters  the  record  of  his  past  year.  September, 
and  for  the  commissary  clerk  the  fading  woods  re- 
sounded with  the  Naha-like  echo  of  a  woodman's  axe, 
the  leaves  rustled  even  in  his  fitful  midnight  dreams,  the 
mournful  "tu-whit,  tu-whoo"  of  the  owl  sounded  dismally 
in  his  ear  every  hour  of  the  night  and  day. 

"Hugh,  I  believe  Chester  is  going  to  be  ill.  What  is 
wrong  with  him  ?  He  eats  nothing,  and  see  how  thin  he 
grows." 

Milly  was  preparing  for  visitors,  and  the  entire  house 
was  undergoing  a  revolutionary  period  which  was  to  result 


WITCH  FINGERS: 


123 


in  the  utter  extirpation  of  cobwebs,  dust,  and  dirt.  The 
servants  were  rushing  about  in  a  wild  frenzy  of  haste  and 
disorder,  making  pugilistic  assaults  upon  mattresses,  car- 
pets, and  curtains,  and  indulging  in  frantic  ablutions  with 
mop  and  pail.  Milly  herself,  in  her  husband's  old  gloves 
and  towering  pink-cambric  dust-cap,  gave  orders  like  a 
tyrannical  female  Phalaris  condemning  her  faithful  sub- 
jects to  inexorable  banishment,  until,  as  her  gudeman 
expressed  it,  "  he  didn't  know  where  he'd  stop." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Chester?"  she  repeated, 
making  a  running  jump  at  the  cornice  with  a  brush  at  the 
end  of  a  pole,  and  bringing  the  brush  on  its  return  in 
unpleasant  proximity  to  her  impudent  little  nose,  as 
though  bent  upon  enumerating  with  mathematical  pre- 
cision the  number  of  defunct  flies  the  demolished  cobwebs 
had  harbored. 

"I  don't  begin  to  know,"  replied  her  husband,  thus 
importuned  ;  "  but  don't  notice  it,  Milly,  there's  a  good 
girl.  It  gives  him  additional  trouble,  I  am  sure,  when  we 
observe  him  too  closely.  Well,  aren't  you  most  through? 
To  watch  your  proceedings,  one  would  imagine  you  were 
expecting  a  health  board  on  a  tour  of  sanitary  inspection 
instead  of  your  uncle  and  aunt." 

The  captain,  good  fellow,  had  accepted  the  inevitable 
condition  of  affairs  in  his  home  with  the  best  grace  he 
could  summon,  but  the  draft  upon  his  equanimity  had  been 
heavy  and  frequent,  and  his  resources  about  exhausted. 

"If  I  were  not  so  good-natured,  I  should  be  tempted 
to  grumble,  Milly,  as  the  cook  said  in  Collins's  '  Frozen 
Deep.'  " 

"  As  though  you  were  not  as  inveterate  a  grumbler  as 
John  Want  himself!"  Milly  replied. 

But  the  captain  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  when  he 
came  home  one  evening  and  found  the  Milly  of  old,  in  a 


124  IN  S^A'CHO    PANZA'S  PH. 

becoming  home-dress,  plying  her  worsted  needle  by  the 
parlor  grate. 

"  Dear,  dear,  but  this  is  comfortable  !"  cried  the  "  mar- 
tyr in  deed  but  not  in  will,"  tilting  back  in  his  favorite 
chair  and  elevating  his  boots  to  somewhere  near  the  region 
of  his  eyebrows.  "  Next  time,  Milly,  give  me  fair  warn- 
ing, and  I'll  escape  to  some  haven  of  relief  until  the  tur- 
moil is  over.  After  all,  what  does  such  an  expenditure  of 
soap  and  water  and  physical  force  amount  to?  Do  you 
see  any  difference  in  the  aspect  of  things,  Chester?" 

And  Chester,  after  a  careful  survey  of  the  premises, 
missing  the  dingy  hollands  of  the  summer,  and  observing 
the  pristine  freshness  of  carpets  and  curtains,  felt  bound  to 
admit  that  he  did,  whereupon  Milly  gave  him  a  glowing 
smile  and  turned  a  contemptuous  face  upon  the  captain. 

"  What  an  odious  married  man  your  confirmed  bachelor 
makes!  a  sort  of  Mormon  husband,  who  divides  his  alle- 
giance between  his  old  habits  and  his  new  wife.  Truly, 
Chester,  I  do  not  believe  the  captain  would  change  his 
linen  once  a  week  if  I  were  not  here  to  insist  upon  it." 

"Absent-minded,  little  one  ;  nice  enough,  but  absent," 
laughed  the  good-humored  liege. 

"So  was  Goldsmith  when  he  vowed  to  his  wife,  who 
could  not  account  for  his  empty  valise,  that  he  had  donned 
a  clean  shirt  each  day  of  his  visit." 

Goldsmith's  life  was  one  of  the  few  biographies  with 
which  Mrs.  Milly  had  fortified  her  busy  little  brains. 

"Well,  and  what  became  of  'em,  my  dear?"  inquired 
the  captain,  anxious  for  the  moral  that  adorned  her  tale. 

"  Why,  he  had  put  them  on,  one  atop  of  the  other,  and 
brought  them  all  home  on  his  back'' 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  laughed  the  captain,  "  but  I  should  never 
have  done  that.  What !  why,  he  must  have  felt  uncom- 
monly tight  about  the  arm-pits.  Chester,  to  hear  my 


"  WITCH  FINGERS."  125 

wife  talk  you'd  imagine  I  never  wore  shirts  until  I  was 
married.  You  wouldn't  have  Chester  believe  I  visited 
you  in  Leander's  guise,  my  dear  !" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  Leanders,"  said  Milly, 
resenting  the  amused  gleam  in  the  clerk's  blue  eyes,  and 
feeling  called  upon  thereby  to  express  her  mind  more  de- 
cidedly even  than  usual ;  "but  there  is  one  thing  I  do  know, 
and  that  is,  whenever  a  man  marries  he  suddenly  affects 
a  supreme  indifference  for  not  only  fresh  linen,  but  even 
the  order  and  cleanliness  of  his  home,  only  supposing  he 
has  married  an  orderly  wife.  It  is  upon  the  principle,  no 
doubt,  that  wives  and  servants  are  not  to  be  spoiled  by 
encouragement.  Now  if  I  were  a  slattern,  allowed  things 
to  lay  at  six's  and  seven's,  was  less  careful  of  my  coffee 
or  the  captain's  linen,  what  a  martyr  he  would  feel  him- 
self! how  he  wottld  sputter  over  the  coffee  and  demand 
perfect  linen  !  I  think  it  is  contemptible  for  a  man  to 
sneer  at  the  comforts  that  his  wife  sacrifices  time,  patience, 
and  bodily  ease  to  provide  !" 

The  captain  leaned  over  and  patted  the  glossy  braids 
with  his  great  gentle  hand:  "Tut,  tut,  little  girl!  who 
sneers?  who  won't  praise  his  little  wife  when  she  deserves 
it  ?  Only,  my  dear,  I  have  felt  uncommonly  like  a  refugee 
this  past  week,  and  I  am  glad  we  will  have  something 
more  appetizing  for  dinner  to-morrow  than  a  cold  joint 
and  baked  beans.  No  doubt  these  semi-annual  renova- 
tions are  entirely  necessary,  but,  like  discrimination  and 
discretion,  they  don't  come  natural  to  every  one.  See, 
I've  a  bruise  on  four  fingers  and  a  cut  on  my  thumb,  and 
as  for  this,"  holding  out  his  left  hand,  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  "  I  can  only  be  thankful  I  have  escaped  with  it 
whole.  Those  little  carpet-hammers,  innocent  as  they 
look,  play  the  deuce  with  a  fellow's  nails,  and  I  wouldn't 
like  to  submit  my  cranium  to  a  phrenologist's  inspection 

u* 


126  IK  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

just  now  for  fear  he  would  be  puzzled  to  find  names  for 
all  its  remarkable  developments.  When  a  fellow  from  the 
superior  altitude  of  a  step-ladder  essays  to  nail  a  'lamb- 
kin,' as  our  gentle  Bridget  dubs  it,  beneath  a  cornice  that 
affords  you  just  two  inches  moving  room,  it  isn't  to  be 
wondered  at  if  one's  foretop  falls  a  sacrifice." 

By  this  time  the  captain  had  gained  his  point,  and  Milly 
was  laughing  heartily.  She  led  the  way  to  supper  in  the 
best  humor  imaginable. 

"  And  now,  Chester,  what  do  you  think  of  my  contri- 
bution to  the  'comforts'  my  wife  takes  such  credit  for?" 

"I  think,  as  Jarvis  said  of  Sir  William  Honeywood  in 
your  wife's  favorite  author,  '  it  is  not  without  reason  that 
the  world  allows  thee  to  be  the  best  of  men.' ' 

The  captain  stammered,  looking  utterly  confused. 
"  Bless  me,  boy,  you've  always  a  quotation  cut  and  dried 
for  every  occasion ;  how  do  you  remember  'em  all,  and 
where  do  you  find  'em?" 

"You  should  rather  condemn  me  for  that,  captain.  I 
believe  it  is  considered  out-  of  taste  in  literature,  but  to 
answer  you  with  another,  Burns  says  in  one  of  his  letters 
— have  you  read  them  ? — '  I  like  to  have  quotations  for 
every  occasion ;  they  give  one's  ideas  so  pat,  and  save 
one  the  trouble  of  finding  expression  adequate  to  one's 
feelings' ;  and  again,  in  another  letter,  he  says,  '  I  pick  up 
favorite  quotations  and  store  them  in  my  mind  as  ready 
armor,  offensive  or  defensive,  amid  the  struggle  of  this 
turbulent  existence.'  ' 

"  Then  your  memory  doesn't  play  you  tricks?" 

"Not  often." 

And  the  captain  wondered  at  the  shadow  that  suddenly 
darkened  the  face  of  "  the  lad." 

"Milly,"  said  her  husband  at  supper,  resuming  the 
mooted  subject  with  that  peculiar  persistence  that  be- 


"  WITCH  FINGERS." 


127 


longed  to  him,  "  I  venture  to  say  that,  after  all  your  work 
and  trouble,  your  Aunt  Edith  will  not  notice  whether 
your  carpets  are  clean  or  dusty ;  she's  always  looking 
miles  ahead  with  those  strange  eyes  of  hers." 

"Yes,  she  will;  auntie  notices  everything,  little  as  you 
think  it ;  but  even  if  she  did  not,  I  shall  enjoy  them  all 
the  more  from  knowing  that  everything  is  '  spick  and  span.' 
Try  some."  This  last  to  Chester,  who  had  drawn  a  large 
glass  bowl  towards  him  and  was  looking  into  it  with  in- 
genuous curiosity.  "  Try  some,  they  are  perfectly  charm- 
ing !  '  Witch-fingers'  and  '  tangled-breeches'  we  call 
them  at  Willams.  I  made  them  specially  for  Blanche, 
Uncle  Herbert's  baby-girl.  '  Cousin  Milly's  witch-fin- 
gers,' she  used  to  call  them." 

They  might  have  been  veritable  witch-fingers,  judging 
from  Chester's  face  as  he  held  the  snowy,  sugar-encrusted 
dainty  and  gazed  at  Milly  with  that  dazed  look  in  his 
eyes. 

"Willams!"  he  echoed,  shaken  out  of  his  habitual 
self-control.  "Willams!  why,  what  do  you  know  of 
Willams?" 

Milly  looked  at  him  curiously.  "  I  was  born  at  Willams, 
and  married  from  there,  and  all  my  people  live  there. 
Dr.  Herbert  Sinclair,  the  chief  physician  in  Willams,  is 
my  uncle." 

"  And  it  is  they  you  are  expecting?" 

"Yes;  I  thought  you  knew."  She  felt  curious  to  know 
what  his  emotion  meant,  but  a  warning  glance  from  her 
husband  checked  the  query  on  her  lips. 

Chester  finished  his  supper  in  silence,  eating  every 
crumb  of  the  delicate  white  morsel,  draining  the  last  drop 
in  his  cup  unconsciously,  then  sitting  on  at  table  while 
Milly  and  her  husband  chatted  leisurely  over  their  tea, 
white,  immovable,  as  Curtius  might  have  sat  when  be- 


128  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

neath  him  in  the  heart  of  old  Rome  that  black  abyss 
yawned  at  his  feet. 

"Please,  sir,  Mister  Chester  sez  as  how  you'll  please  ter 
walk  down  ter  the  shop  hif  you  haint  gone  to  bed." 
Thus  Stable  Jim  at  the  captain's  elbow,  as  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  piazza  smoking  his  nocturnal  cigar. 

"Well,  I  haven't  gone  to  bed,  Jim,  as  you  see;  run  in  and 
tell  Mrs.  Hollis  I  will  be  back  soon,  and  not  to  wait  for  me. ' ' 

And  he  set  off  around  the  gravel-hills  and  along  the 
moonlit  grounds  with  a  warm  glow  in  his  heart,  engen- 
dered by  the  mild  beauty  of  the  night.  At  the  shop  he 
found  Chester  behind  the  counter,  his  head  leaning  on  his 
hands,  his  whole  attitude  indicative  of  weariness  of  body 
and  dejection  of  mind. 

"Why,  Chester,  what's  wrong?"  asked  the  captain, 
coming  to  a  stand  in  front  of  the  counter. 

"Captain,"  and  the  voice  matched  the  attitude,  "I 
am  tired  and  troubled,  and  I  don't  know  which  way  to 
turn.  You've  been  such  a  friend  to  me,  captain,  such 
a  true,  kind,  generous  friend,  and  I  was  tempted  just  now 
into  making  you  a  cowardly  return  for  it  all." 

"  Don't  speak  in  riddles,  my  lad." 

The  "  lad"  leaned  over  the  counter,  looking  eagerly  into 
the  puzzled  face  of  his  friend  with  eyes  that  pleaded  for 
forbearance  as  never  eyes  pleaded  before.  "I've  got  to 
leave,  captain,  and  I  was  tempted  to  sneak  away  like  a 
thief,  only  I  remembered  what  you  and  Mrs.  Hollis  would 
think  of  such  a  return  for  all  your  kindness,  and  I  could 
not.  I  value  your  opinion,  captain,  even  more  than  I  did 
when  you  trusted  me,  a  stranger,  with  your  money." 

"You've  got  to  leave?" 

"Yes;  it  is  a  part  of  my  punishment  that  I  am  safe 
nowhere  long ;  but  I  did  think  to  rest  here,  and,  oh  !  it  is 


WITCH  FINGERS: 


129 


bitter  to  leave,  for  never  again  shall  I  find  such  friends  as 
you  and  your  wife  have  been  to  me." 

"And  you  will  not  trust  me  with  your  secret?" 

"  No,  I  cannot ;  you  are  a  law-abiding  man  ;  your  heart 
is  gentle  as  a  woman's,  but  your  judgment  could  not  with- 
hold its  condemnation.  You  believed  in  me  when  every- 
thing was  against  me,  but  you  could  no  longer  believe  in 
the  face  of  evidence  that  would  convict  me  twice  over. 

If  ever  the  day  comes  when  I  can  clear  this  mystery " 

but  he  interrupted  himself,  flinging  his  arms  up  with  the 
old  curious  gesture.  Between  him  and  his  friend  came 
the  ghastly  face  of  his  past,  and  he  knew  that  the  day 
would  never  dawn  when  the  weight  of  that  black  secret 
would  be  lifted  from  his  life. 

Captain  Hollis  walked  behind  the  counter  unsteadily ; 
there  were  blurring  mists  before  his  kind  eyes.  "  Ches- 
ter," he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  clerk's  shoulder, 
"look  up,  boy,  don't  take  it  like  that;  I  believe  you;  I 
trust  you  in  spite  of  all.  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  did  not 
seek  to  discover  your  secret,  and  remember,  boy,  you  said 
yourself  it  was  not  crime  in  intention.  But  to  leave  now 
when  your  services  are  all  but  indispensable,  surely  you 
won't  have  to  do  that,  boy?" 

Chester  lifted  a  blanched  face  from  his  hands  and  wrung 
his  benefactor's  hand  with  unconscious  strength.  "  Cap- 
tain, after  a  few  days  it  will  be  as  much  as  my  life  is  worth, 
perhaps,  to  stay  here.  I  would  have  said  a  year  ago  that 
my  life  was  worth  nothing,  but  you  see  I  promised  not 
to  cheat  myself  on  that  score  again." 

The  captain  pressed  his  lips  together  in  perplexed  silence. 
If  he  had  his  own  conjectures  concerning  the  nature  of 
his  subordinate's  crime,  he  forebore  to  give  them  expres- 
sion, but  he  did  not  again  seek  to  shake  his  sudden  deter- 
mination to  leave. 


1 3o 


7Ar  SANCffO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


"If  it  is  as  you  say,  then  you  must  go,  Chester,"  and 
the  captain  stroked  unsteadily  his  abundant  silken  beard  ; 
"but  where?  have  you  considered?" 

"I  have  had  no  time  to  consider,"  a  dreary  apathy  in 
his  voice.  Then  after  a  long  pause,  arousing  himself  with 
an  effort,  straightening  his  tall  figure  and  drawing  his 
breath  quickly  :  "  Well,  captain,  don't  bother  about  me, 
I'll  pull  up  somewhere,  the  worst  is  over  for  the  present. 
You  are  willing  to  trust  me  still ;  you  know  that  I  do  not 
play  you  this  shabby  trick  of  my  own  will.  Come  along," 
taking  his  hat  down  from  its  peg  and  extinguishing  the 
lamp,  "  Mrs.  Hollis  will  be  imagining  that  you've  gone 
below,  and  you  know  she  doesn't  fancy  that." 

But  as  they  struck  into  the  white  moonlight  beyond  the 
shanties,  Chester  wheeled  round  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
captain's  shoulder  with  a  tenderness  that  turned  the 
action  into  a  caress.  "It  is  a  poor  return  for  all  your 
goodness,  but  you  know  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  stay,  and 
one  last  request  I  have  to  make,  my  friend, — that  you  do 
not  mention  my  name  or  refer  to  such  a  person  having 
existed  at  the  mines  to  those  people  who  are  coming,  and 
that  you  will  ask  the  same  for  me  of  your  wife.  You  look 
surprised,  small  wonder ;  but  it  would  not  avail  you  any- 
thing to  know  my  reasons.  They  did  me  a  great  service 
once,  those  people ;  the  lady,  Miss  Edith  Sinclair,  has 
lived  in  my  memory  and  dreams  ever  since,  a  white  angel, 
and  it  causes  me  a  bitter  pang  that  she  was  forced  to  con- 
demn me  as  utterly  unworthy  her  charity.  The  last  thing 
I  have  to  ask  is  that  you  will  not  allow  thoughts  of  me  to 
give  you  uneasiness.  You  knowmyold  faith, — a  man  makes 
his  own  fate.  I  shall  pull  up  somewhere,  and  I  have  a  neat 
account  against  the  company,  enough  to  keep  me  going 
until  I  can  find  a  lodgment.  You  will  promise,  captain  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lad  ;  I  promise  not  to  speak  your  name  to  my 


"  WITCH   FINGERS."  !3I 

wife's  people,  though  if  it  is  they  from  whom  you  are 
fleeing  I  would  advise  you  to  stay  where  you  are.  Dr. 
Herbert,  philosopher  and  philanthropist,  as  well  as  phy- 
sician, would  no  more  use  his  knowledge  of  your  secret 
against  you  than  he  would  encourage  the  process  of  vivi- 
section ;  and  Edith, — '  auntie,'  as  Milly  calls  her, — whose 
name,  by  the  way,  is  not  Miss  Sinclair,  but  Mrs.  Holme, 
and  whose  life  was  blighted  in  the  very  outset " 

"  Holme?  did  you  say  Holme?"  Chester  was  leaning 
up  against  the  gate,  white  as  the  wraith  of  a  man. 

"Yes,  my  lad.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  her  husband?  a 
worthless  foreign  attache  whom  she  met  in  her  youth  at 
Washington,  and,  succumbing  to  his  beauty  and  wit, — he 
was  a  clever  dog, — she  eloped  with  him  beyond  seas,  leav- 
ing a  noble  young  lover  in  the  lurch.  She  came  back  to 
her  brother  after  two  years,  wan  and  heart-broken,  a  mis- 
erable, forsaken  wife  at  twenty,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms; 
and  when  the  babe,  a  boy,  was  about  ten  years  old  he 
was  missing  one  day  from  the  garden  at  the  doctor's, 
where  he  had  been  sent  to  play,  and  has  never  been  heard 
of  since, — kidnapped  by  that  renegade,  no  doubt.  But 
if  ever  a  woman  has  atoned  for  the  folly  of  her  youth  it 
is  Edith  Holme.  Your  secret,  if  she  knows  it,  is  a  sacred 
thing  to  her ;  for,  as  she  has  so  often  said,  she  is  in  fel- 
lowship with  all  who  have  sinned  and  repented." 

"Mrs.  Holme,  Mrs.  Rabys  Holme,"  he  repeated, 
under  his  breath,  "and  she  took  me  in,  gave  me  a 
mother's  care  and  comfort,  nursed  me  back  to  strength, 
bore  with  my  weakness  so  patiently,  while  I !" 

He  turned  and  fled  down  the  white  moonlit  glades  of 
the  woodland  as  one  who  is  pursued  by  a  fiend,  and  the 
captain  looked  after  him  with  a  heavy  heart, — 

"Poor  lad!  poor  lad!" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TITHONIUS. 
"  Dust  are  our  frames,  and  gilded  dust  our  pride." — AYLMER'S  Fuld. 

A  WILD  evening  in  March  !  The  trees  in  the  belt 
cii cling  the  carriage-drive  at  Cheswick  were  flinging 
naked,  pleading  arms  to  the  piercing  gales  that  swept 
across  the  country  from  the  mountains;  black  battle- 
ments of  clouds  overhead  sent  down  a  stinging  shower 
of  frozen  rain  at  intervals,  like  the  advance  shots  from 
an  enemy's  intrenchments. 

A  pitiless,  fierce  March  day,  whose  icy  blast  was  death 
to  the  early  snowdrops  springing  to  life  in  the  borders, 
and  when  occasionally  a  sunbeam  ventured  to  dart  from 
a  crevice  of  the  windy  clouds  it  was  dashed  to  instant 
death  "  'gainst  tower  and  tree." 

In  the  library,  before  a  roaring,  old-fashioned  fire  of 
hickory  logs,  sat  Mr.  Cheswick,  his  right  foot  bolstered 
upon  yielding  cushions,  and  at  his  right  hand  a  small 
circular  table  containing  the  adjuncts  of  his  evening 
meal.  The  movement  of  his  hand  as  he  lifted  his  cup 
to  his  lips  was  strangely  unsteady,  and  on  his  brow  were 
deep  furrows  that  ten  added  years  of  life  ought  not  to 
have  wrought  there.  Opposite  the  fireplace,  erect  and 
precise,  sat  Miss  Bab  knitting.  The  little  silver  side- 
curls  fell  glossy  and  well-kept  as  ever  on  either  side  the 
sunken  temples,  the  bright  black  eyes  flashed  keenly  as 
of  old  behind  her  spectacles,  and  the  glittering  needles, 
132 


TITHONIUS. 


'33 


guided  by  those  withered  hands,  clicked  steadily  through 
all  changes,  all  troubles,  though  the  line  of  her  cotton 
might  have  been  the  cord  of  Ocnus  for  all  the  comfort 
she  derived  from  her  work  nowadays.  The  socks  were 
multiplying  to  such  an  extent  in  that  top  drawer  of  the 
bureau  in  Miss  Bab's  room  that  a  casual  observer  might 
have  suspected  her  of  a  secret  design  to  rival  the  Balbrig- 
gan  manufactory.  Strong,  yellow  pairs  she  knitted  for 
the  deserving  poor  about  Cheswick,  but  these  exquisitely- 
shaped,  soft,  white  hose,  smooth  to  the  touch  as  satin, 
and  ribbed  and  clocked  to  a  nicety,  were  always  carefully 
deposited  in  that  "top  drawer"  of  the  old-fashioned 
bureau,  with  what  tears,  with  what  prayers,  with  what 
motherly  agony  of  pain  and  suspense  only  the  faithful 
old  soul  herself  knew. 

As  they  sat  there  on  either  side  the  hearth,  Miss  Bab's 
fingers  flying,  her  old  eyes  grown  dreamy  looking  over 
the  spectacles  into  the  fire,  faint  echoes  of  music  reached 
them,  muffled  strains  that  mingled  with  the  voices  of  the 
wind  outside  in  a  weird  din  of  sound. 

Mr.  Cheswick  set  his  cup  on  the  tray  and  reached  for 
the  evening  paper,  looking  up  and  down  its  columns  list- 
lessly. 

"  Did  your  tea  suit  you,  Robert  ?" 

"Very  good." 

"Are  you  comfortable?  It  is  very  cold.  Jacob  says 
the  ice  is  an  inch  thick  on  the  pond." 

"Humph!" 

"  Did  he  tell  you  Duffer  will  not  eat?" 

"Humph!" 

After  which  abortive  attempt  at  conversation  Miss  Bab 
lapsed  into  silence. 

The  logs  crackled  fiercely ;  a  grand  pyrotechnic  display 
went  on  behind  the  fire-dogs  unheeded  by  either  of  them. 


1 34  I^  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

The  muffled  strains  came  stealing  in  again,  soft  yet 
distinct  as  the  voice  of  conscience  when,  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  night,  it  makes  itself  heard  in  our  souls. 
Hauntingly,  persistently  the  weird  tones  found  an  echo 
in  the  lofty  room  and  in  the  heart  of  the  lonely,  stern- 
visaged  master,  sweet  as  the  memory  of  happy  days,  sad 
as  the  barren  regrets  that  follow  in  the  track  of  wasted 
joys.  How  they  mourned,  how  they  plained,  those 
heavenly  sweet  voices  !  He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand 
and  listened,  while  the  dark  shadows  outside  pressed 
closer  and  blacker,  and  the  rude  winds  lashed  the 
branches  of  his  brave  old  trees.  But  the  faint,  echoing 
voices  broke  forth  as  he  listerjed  into  a  sob,  a  wail, — 
disjointed,  dying,  like  the  fortunes  of  his  house  and 
name  ! 

"  Barbara,  call  Amy,  will  you?"  The  old  lady  started 
at  the  high,  rasping  tones.  "Tell  her  I  want  her,  and 
send  Jacob  to  make  the  fire." 

The  fire  had  burned  down  to  the  last  log,  and  the 
twinges  of  pain  in  his  foot  were  exasperating. 

Miss  Bab  arose,  folded  her  knitting,  and  went  out  into 
the  hall  with  her  old  firm  step. 

It  was  not  long  until  Amy  appeared,  carrying  a  little 
lamp,  and  the  rays  shining  upward  into  her  face  revealed 
it  much  the  same,  except  that  the  clear  eyes  were  wistful 
and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  slightly  depressed  where 
once  the  curve  was  so  firm  and  joyous.  She  set  the  lamp 
on  the  table  at  his  elbow.  "  Did  you  want  me,  uncle?" 
she  asked,  stooping  as  she  spoke  and  busying  herself  with 
the  cushions  about  his  foot. 

"Yes,  I  want  you  to  read  me  that  table  of  the  foreign 
markets, — the  print  is  so  confoundedly  fine  !  Why  did 
you  stay  so  long  over  there  in  the  cold  ?  I  have  told 
you  to  have  Jacob  build  a  fire." 


TITHONWS. 


135 


There  was  no  answer.  The  long  parlor,  where  Amy 
had  lived  out  her  brief  idyl,  was  by  common  consent  a 
tabooed  spot.  It  was  only  when  the  fever  of  unrest 
raged  highest  that  she  ventured  there,  though  she  as 
often  thought  that,  as  to  the  pilgrim  on  Mount  Hor,  the 
fair  height  to  which  her  memory  led  her  only  served  to 
reveal  to  her  more  clearly  the  wretchedness  and  barren 
extent  of  the  El  Ghor  Valley  that  stretched  below. 

As  she  sat  in  the  Cheswick  library  waiting  for  Jacob  to 
mend  the  fire,  looking  so  fair  and  patient  and  home-like 
in  her  dainty  attire,  with  the  light-brown  waving  hair 
coiled  in  burnished  plaits  coronet-wise  above  her  fore- 
head, how  little  they  guessed,  old  Aunt  Bab,  who  had 
resumed  her  knitting,  and  Mr.  Cheswick,  scanning  the 
columns  of  his  paper,  that  her  heart  was  smothering  per- 
petually the  one  cry,  "  Where  shall  I  find  him?" 

Jacob  knelt  in  front  of  the  fender,  disposing  his  splin- 
ters with  the  precision  of  an  artist.  Amy  went  over  to 
the  window  opening  upon  the  garden.  How  drear  it 
looked,  the  broad  old-fashioned  garden,  with  its  bare  hedge 
of  currant-  and  raspberry-bushes,  its  empty  beds,  its  deso- 
late, wind-swept  paths  !  She  leaned  among  the  crimson 
curtains,  a  pretty  creature,  young  and  graceful,  making 
so  fair  a  picture  as  she  stood  there  that  even  old  Jacob 
Martin,  rising  stiffly  from  his  knees  before  the  fender, 
heaved  an  honest  sigh  of  pleasure  as  he  looked  at  her. 
There  was  nothing  in  common  with  grief  and  suspense 
about  her.  She  seemed  only  a  womanly  child  to  those 
two  old  people  sitting  by  the  fire, — a  little  serious  for 
her  years  perhaps,  but  still  a  child,  with  a  child's  light 
fancies,  a  child's  ready  forgetfulness  ! 

They  did  not  see  the  little  hand  clinching  a  fold  of  the 
curtain,  nor  the  dreariness  of  those  soft  eyes  as  they 
looked  out  over  the  wild  March  waste  outside  the  win- 


136  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

dow.  They  did  not  know  how  in  her  heart  she  was 
moaning,  "Where  are  you,  my  dear,  my  dear?  Do  you 
suffer?  do  you  live?  Is  there  no  help  for  you?" 

"Come,  Amy." 

"Yes,  uncle." 

In  a  moment  the  quiet  little  figure  was  at  his  side, 
the  gentle,  sweet  face  within  the  range  of  his  vision. 
Strange  what  comfort  it  gave  him  to  see  her  sitting  there 
in  front  of  him,  with  the  firelight  shining  on  the  bright 
braids  of  her  hair  !  That  was  one  act  of  his  life  he  need 
not  repent, — that  fair  young  flower  flourished  in  the  upas- 
soil  of  his  home. 

"Does  your  foot  hurt  much?  Oh,  uncle,  I  am  so 
sorry !"  For  he  had  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and 
groaned. 

"  There,  go  on  with  the  markets  !"  And  Amy  plunged 
at  once  into  that  startling  array  of  dry  statistics.  From 
one  topic  to  another  she  passed,  pausing  only  long 
enough  to  receive  her  uncle's  dictates  as  to  what  was 
next  most  worthy  of  a  hearing.  Most  of  her  evenings 
were  so  employed,  the  only  variety  arising  from  her 
uncle's  moods,  which,  when  subjected  to  those  madden- 
ing twinges  of  pain  in  his  foot,  were  for  the  most  part 
unappeasable.  Sometimes  her  heart  sank  at  the  dreari- 
ness of  her  life.  It  would  have  been  dreary  in  any  case. 
The  monotonous  days,  each  one  the  counterpart  of  the 
other,  passed  at  Cheswick  with  those  two  old  people, 
even  had  she  never  known  the  pleasures  of  congenial 
intercourse  and  companionship,  even  had  she  not  been 
burdened  with  that  deadly  weight  of  trouble  whereof 
you  know,  for  she  was  young  and  a  creature  of  natural 
impulses  and  healthy  imagination. 

Cheswick  was  the  one  place  of  importance  in  the 
country,  isolated  from  its  plain,  comfortable  neighbors 


TITHONIUS. 


137 


by  the  reserve  and  exclusiveness  of  its  master,  and  so 
there  were  no  resources  in  the  neighborhood.  Unlike 
the  generality  of  country  estates,  rich  and  extensive  as  it 
was,  Cheswick  had  not  for  many  years  dispensed  a  grace- 
ful hospitality  nor  opened  its  wide  doors  with  a  carte 
blanche  invitation  to  the  world  outside,  as  it  might  well 
have  done.  Perhaps  to  the  delicate  health  of  Cedric's 
mother  might  have  been  attributed  this  lack  of  hospital- 
ity, or  it  might  have  been  that  Robert  Cheswick,  who  was 
never  known  to  have  evinced  any  partiality  for  the  world 
at  large,  had  arbitrated  the  matter  at  the  outset  after  a 
peculiar  fashion  of  his  own.  At  all  events  Cheswick 
was  without  neighbors  in  a  thrifty,  thickly-settled  county, 
where  the  farms  were  plentiful  and  fruitful,  flanked  by 
substantial  dwellings  in  brick  and  stones,  to  whose  in- 
mates its  customs,  as  seen  from  afar,  savored  decidedly 
of  "  uppishness. "  And  so  in  this  trouble  that  had  over- 
taken him,  this  disgrace  that  had  darkened  his  staunch 
old  name,  Robert  Cheswick  was  not  enriched  by  the 
sympathy  of  the  people  among  whom  he  had  lived  all  his 
married  life. 

They  were  alone,  as  they  had  been  always.  But  in 
those  glad  days  last  year,  when  the  hours  flew  by  on  wings, 
when  the  sunset  followed  the  sunrise  all  too  soon  for  the 
joys  to  be  lived  through,  what  had  Amy  missed  from  the 
outside  world?  Nothing,  for  each  day  had  unfolded 
some  new  delight  that  the  yesterday  had  held  not  in  its 
royal  sway.  What  had  they  missed,  then,  those  two  at 
old  Cheswick,  their  hearts  and  souls  bound  in  a  union 
of  completeness,  with  the  future  cloudless  in  anticipation 
before  them  ?  Could  she  dream  that  the  winds  were  but 
asleep  in  their  caverns?  that  the  light  in  the  eyes  she 
loved  had  blinded  her  to  the  darkness  that  was  coming 
on  apace? 

12* 


!38  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

But  now,  sitting  there  day  after  day,  learning  lessons 
in  housekeeping  from  Jacob  Martin's  wife,  nursing  and 
amusing  her  uncle,  taking  long,  solitary  walks  through 
the  lonely  country,  she  began  to  long  for  something 
from  outside,  no  matter  what,  so  that  this  severe  implaca- 
ble silence  might  but  be  broken.  There  was  nothing  of 
the  stoic  in  the  soft  tender  nature  of  the  girl,  though  she 
bore  her  own  pain  bravely  and  carried  a  patient  spirit  to 
confront  the  duties  of  the  lonely  days.  She  was  young, 
a  very  child,  and  she  longed  inexpressibly  for  a  friend, 
some  creature  near  her  own  age  to  whom  she  might  dare 
go  with  her  troubled  thoughts  and  seek  comfort  in  her 
companionship. 

"  Mandy,  do  you  mind  Miss  Amy  ?"  Jacob  had  said  to 
his  wife  that  evening,  while  she  was  preparing  her  master's 
supper  and  he  waiting  to  serve  it,  "  she's  that  white  and 
spirit-like  one  can  e'en  a'most  see  through  her.  The 
girl's  breakin'  her  heart,  I  tell  you.  She  ought  to  be 
sent  away  from  this  place;  t'squire,  for  all  he  makes 
things  uncomfortable  with  his  cussin'  and  groanin',  ain't 
beginn'n*  to  feel't  like  Miss  Amy.  The  way  she  use 
ter  laugh  and  sing !  Oh,  my  Lord !  how  things  does 
turn  out !" 

And  his  busy  wife  had  paused  in  her  preparation  of 
"  t'squire's"  supper  long  enough  to  lift  the  corner  of  her 
apron  to  her  eyes. 

"  It  all  comes  along  o'  that  rapscallion  bein'  brought 
here,"  she  said,  blowing  the  coals  beneath  the  chicken 
broiling  on  the  gridiron.  "  I  heer'n  Miss  Bab  tell  him 
that ;  she  know'd  what  she  meant.  I  didn't ;  but  you  see 

she  did !" 

********* 

Amy  had  read  until  her  throat  ached ;  Miss  Bab  had 
fallen  asleep  over  her  knitting,  when  Jacob  Martin  sud- 


TITHONIUS. 


'39 


denly  presented  himself  in  the  doorway,  looking  disturbed 
beyond  his  wont. 

"Squire,  Duffer  is  dead  !"  he  said,  abruptly.  "I've  had 
the  horse-doctor  over  from  Catoctin  for  the  last  hour; 
but  he's  clean  gone,  sir." 

Miss  Bab  and  Amy  looked  at  each  other  with  white 
faces.  There  was  an  interval  of  silence  following 
Jacob's  announcement,  then  the  "Squire"  spoke,  but 
the  effort  to  appear  indifferent  and  unconcerned  was  a 
vain  one. 

"Well,  Martin,  it  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose;  order 
the  boys  to  drag  him  out  in  the  morning." 

But  old  Miss  Bab  threw  up  her  withered  hands,  the 
very  picture  of  consternation.  "  Drag  Duffer  out !  No, 
no,  Robert!  Rick  always  said  he  should  have  a  decent 
grave  and  a  head-stone  !" 

Old  Jacob  started,  for  that  name  had  not  been  spoken 
at  Cheswick  in  many  months,  and  his  master,  forgetting 
his  bandaged  foot,  turned  upon  his  sister  with  a  muttered 
imprecation,  his  eyes  flashing  such  unholy  fires  of  rage 
and  menace  as  would  have  daunted  the  bravest.  What 
sudden  power  smote  the  lightnings  from  those  flashing 
eyes,  the  nerve  from  that  extended  arm,  the  speech  from 
those  quivering  lips  that  lapsed  suddenly  into  inarticulate 
murmurs,  while  a  horror  of  dismay — and  something  that 
looked  like  fear — broke  over  his  face,  grown  old  and  gray 
in  these  few  moments  as  with  the  weight  of  years?  Amy 
flew  to  his  side  with  a  low  cry,  for  he  fell  back  among 
the  cushions  of  his  chair,  with  that  mute  expression  of 
horror  frozen,  as  it  were,  upon  his  features. 

"God  forgive  me!"  cried  Miss  Bab,  starting  to  his 
side,  but  falling  helpless  upon  the  first  chair  in  her  way. 
"  Run,  Jacob,  for  the  doctor  !  it  is  a  stroke  !" 

This  was  the  second  time  in  the  last  twelvemonth  the 


140 


IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 


physicians  had  been  called  to  Cheswick  in  hot  haste  to 

battle  with  that  insidious  foe,  "a  stroke." 
********** 

After  many  days  he  came  back  to  life,  a  sort  of  life 
in  death,  in  which  the  mind  alone  remained  unscathed. 
It  was  long  before  those  around  him  grew  accustomed 
to  the  piteous  spectacle.  That  menacing  sentence  ad- 
dressed to  Miss  Bab  were  the  last  distinct  words  his  lips 
ever  uttered.  The  scarcely  articulate  murmurs  by  which 
he  strove  to  make  himself  understood  were  intelligible 
to  none  save  Amy,  and  more  to  her  from  the  spirit 
than  the  letter.  How  the  haughty,  unchafed  spirit 
struggled  to  break  the  bondage  of  the  senses !  how 
the  stern  will,  dominant  as  ever,  burned  in  the  sunken 
blue  eyes  !  with  what  feverish,  restless  impatience  it  beat 
against  the  prison-bars  of  the  miserable,  distorted  body  in 
a  vain  effort  for  liberty  !  but 

..."  the  strong  Hours  indignant  worked  their  will, 
And  beat  him  down  and  marred  and  wasted  him, 
And  though  they  could  not  end  him  left  him  maimed. 
Alas  for  this  gray  shadow,  once  a  man  !" 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"CLARCHEN." 

"  Voiceless  and  stern  before  the  cloudy  throne, 
Aye,  Memory  sits." 

VOLCANOES  in  the  ancient  world  were  the  battle- 
grounds of  the  gods.  What  does  that  mean,  in  the 
mythological  language  of  old  Greece,  more  than  this, 
that  where  we  see  great  power  of  will  and  strength  there 
also  do  we  find  fierce  passions  and  contradictory  impulses 
waging  warfare  in  the  soul  of  man? 

When  Robert  Cheswick  started  life,  with  his  hasty, 
generous  temper  and  impetuous  will,  there  were  those  who 
predicted  for  him  failure  as  well  as  success, — the  latter, 
premising  from  his  unyielding  principle,  his  lofty  honor; 
the  former,  from  the  force  of  his  passions,  the  untamed, 
wayward  spirit  of  that  will  to  which  most  had  succumbed 
since  his  babyhood.  Had  different  influences  been  at 
work,  it  were  needless  to  say,  Robert  Cheswick's  life  had 
been  different,  though  there  are  always  the  gods  of  good 
and  evil  contending  for  the  mastery  in  the  soul  of  man. 
And  who  shall  dare  say,  while  yet  the  issue  is  at  stake, 
which  shall  be  the  winner? 

Love,  that  inevitable  condiment,  sneered  at  by  many 
as  but  a  minor  ingredient  in  the  world's  diet,  had  exerted 
a  subverting  influence  upon  his  life.  He  had  loved  in  his 
early  youth  a  woman  who  had  betrayed  his  trust, — 
scarcely  a  woman,  a  gay  girl-butterfly,  eager  to  try  her 
wings, — who  jilted  him  for  a  handsome  foreign  charge 

141 


142  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

d'affaires,  and  fled  with  him  beyond  seas.  The  betrayed 
lover,  who  had  lavished  all  the  wealth  of  his  passionate 
soul  upon  this  his  first  love,  who,  with  the  prodigality  of 
such  a  nature,  kept  not  one  heart-beat  of  affection  in 
reserve,  found  himself  at  that  early  age  utterly  bankrupt, 
as  far  as  those  warm  impulses  go,  so  turned  straight  to  the 
opposite  extreme  for  substitution. 

Well,  when  in  the  crucible  of  events  honest  love  is 
turned  to  honest  hate,  a  great  many  genial  attributes  of 
the  soul  evaporate  in  the  process.  Robert  Cheswick 
grew  into  an  old-young  man,  whose  nature  and  habits 
still  were  lofty,  but  whose  heart  was  cold  and  hard  as  the 
nether  millstone.  When  at  middle  age  he  took  a  wife 
it  was  for  no  love  of  the  gentle  fair -haired  woman  who 
became  Cedric's  mother,  but  merely  to  keep  up  the 
customs  of  Cheswick  and  save  the  old  line  from  decay. 
The  gentle  lady  endured  a  fungiform  existence  through 
all  those  years  she  called  Robert  Cheswick  master,  for 
she  was  not  slow  in  discovering  that  she  owned  no  legiti- 
mate place  in  her  husband's  heart,  and  served  but  as  an 
adjunct  to  the  estate  of  Cheswick,  along  with  its  plate,  its 
butler,  and  its  handsome  carriage  with  the  family  coat  of 
arms  on  the  panels.  And  when  the  father  was  shown 
his  son,  the  open-eyed  baby,  with  its  mother's  soft  rings 
of  sunny  hair,  he  only  said,  motioning  the  nurse  to  relieve 
his  arms  of  the  light  weight  of  flannel  and  lace  that 
cumbered  them  strangely, — 

"It  is  well:  I  have  a  son  to  step  into  Cheswick  after 
me!" 

Eleven  years  lived  the  gentle  mother  of  his  child  from 
that  day, — eleven  years  amid  the  dreariness  and  solitude 
of  Cheswick,  from  which  even  the  old  customs  departed 
as  its  master  grew  gouty  and  irritable, — eleven  years,  in 
which  the  child  grew  into  the  beauty  and  strength  of 


"  CLARCHEN." 


143 


boyhood,  inheriting  the  lofty  honor  of  his  father's  early 
youth,  the  gentle  sweetness  of  his  mother's  nature, — 
eleven  years!  twenty-two  now  since  that  day  when  he 
had  motioned  the  nurse  away  with  his  child,  yet  distinct 
in  his  memory  to-day  as  then,  was  the  look  in  those 
patient,  sad  eyes,  the  eyes  of  his  child's  mother,  when 
from  the  pillows  where  she  lay  she  had  turned  their  glance 
upon  him,  and  he  had  read  therein  the  breaking  of  her 
heart  !  Twenty-two  years,  and  the  despairing  eyes 
haunted  him  yet !  Well,  if  we  sin,  opposed  to  all  dic- 
tates of  conscience  and  reason,  dare  we  hope  to  escape 
the  day  when  that  sin  shall  clamor  for  its  reprisal  ? 

March  was  over,  the  bitter  winds  had  exhausted  them- 
selves, and  there  was  the  odor  and  the  freshness  of  the 
advancing  springtide  in  the  air. 

Amy  came  in  one  morning  with  a  handful  of  daisies 
and  pale-blue  Neapolitan  violets.  "I  gathered  them  in 
the  borders,  uncle,"  she  said,  as  she  arranged  them  in  a 
little  vase  and  set  them  on  his  desk,  where  their  faint, 
sweet  perfume  might  reach  him.  "  The  winter  has  been 
so  long,  but  it  is  over  now." 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  grateful  smile,  the  poor  old 
man,  who  would  never  walk  along  his  garden  paths  again, 
and  his  lips  made  faint,  murmuring  sounds  that  she  trans- 
lated as  no  one  else  at  Cheswick  could. 

She  sat  down  on  a  cushion  at  his  side  and  brought  his 
right  hand  to  her  hair,  where  it  rested,  feeble  and  shak- 
ing, but  with  a  caress  in  the  fumbling  fingers  that  she  had 
learned  to  love. 

"Now,  uncle,  what  is  it  ?  I  shall  understand,  do  not 
be  uneasy,"  for  the  sunken  eyes  were  impatient  and 
eager.  She  followed  the  inarticulate  sounds  steadily, 
comforting  him  with  her  unerring  interpretation  of  them. 

"You  are  lonely?    Yes;  you  want  to  get  away  from 


144 


IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 


Cheswick  ?  We  miibt  ask  the  doctor  where  it  will  be  best 
to  go." 

But  as  she  spoke  the  roses  that  the  April  wind  had  put 
into  her  cheeks  paled  suddenly.  She  had  promised  to 
wait  for  him  here ;  he  had  said  with  almost  his  last  words, 
"I  shall  know  where  to  findyvu."  What  if  he  should 
come  and  find  the  old  home  empty  ? 

The  palsied  fingers  fumbled  with  her  hair,  the  eager, 
sunken  eyes  read  her  face  keenly.  "  You  will  go,  you  and 
Bab,  and  Jacob?"  mumbled  the  shaking,  indistinct  tones. 

"Yes,  I  will  go,"  she  said,  taking  the  feeble  fingers  in 
her  own  and  chafing  them  softly ;  "  my  duty  is  to  you 
first  of  all ;  you  have  been  a  father  to  me,  and  I  owe  you 
a  child's  obedience.  Do  not  trouble  about  anything ; 
Aunt  Bab  and  Jacob  will  arrange  all,  and  I  will  go  with 
you  wherever  you  go." 

He  leaned  back  among  his  pillows  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
content,  and  Amy  sat  there  in  silence,  soothingly  chafing 
his  hand.  She  looked  up  at  last  with  a  smile,  though  her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  : 

"We  are  very  weak  and  forgetful,  dear  uncle,  all  of 
us;  we  almost  fear  to  trust  our  hopes  in  God's  hands,  as 
though  we  with  our  own  petty  human  ones  could  turn 
them  into  the  mould  that  best  pleases  us.  I  have  just  re- 
membered that  all  our  plans  are  safer  left  to  His  guidance, 
so  I  am  not  afraid  to  leave  Cheswick.'' 

He  groaned,  looking  down  upon  his  lame  foot  as  though 
he  would  have  her  believe  the  expression  of  pain  to  be 
wrung  from  him  by  an  extra  twinge  there,  but  the  girl 
knew  better.  His  past  was  an  unwritten  page  to  her,  but 
she  knew  that  no  physical  anguish  could  bring  that  haunt- 
ing fire  of  remorse  so  often  into  those  sunken  blue  eyes. 

"  My  plans  are  all  of  the  devil's  fostering,"  he  thought, 
with  another  groan  as  his  niece  went  out  to  consult  his  sis- 


CLARCHEN." 


145 


ter  in  regard  to  his  sudden  decision  to  leave  Cheswick,  "of 
the  devil's  own,  and  they're  turned  out  of  a  fine  mould." 
Then  he  sneered  with  those  withered  trembling  lips,  for 
the  habits  of  a  lifetime  were  not  to  be  overcome  by  a  few 
months  of  pain  and  illness:  "Bosh!  what  put  that  in 
the  girl's  head  I  wonder.  It  is  time  I  had  something  to 
direct  me.  I  am  growing  silly  and  full  of  fancies  as  an 
old  woman  !"  And  leaning  back  among  his  pillows  he 
tried  to  sleep,  but  the  faint  perfume  of  the  spring  flowers 
wooed  his  senses  too  ardently,  and  that  sentence  of  her's, 
"  I  owe  you  a  child's  obedience,"  echoed  in  his  ears  per- 
sistently. It  sounded  strange  to  him,  old  and  childless 
amid  the  loneliness  of  Cheswick,  to  hear  his  doctrine  ring 
so  sweetly  from  those  fresh  young  lips.  To  him,  who  had 
believed  that  obedience  was  all  a  father  need  require  of 
his  son.  Old  and  alone,  with  the  vigor  of  his  mind  mock- 
ing the  impotence  of  his  body,  he  felt  a  chill  of  some- 
thing like  fear  as  he  reckoned  the  pitiless  fruits  of  his 
cruel  creed. 

It  has  been  a  mooted  question  if  the  sophist  of  Syracuse 
deserved  his  fate  when  the  Spartan  magistrates  hurled  him 
from  the  city  at  the  point  of  his  own  bayonet ! 

When  the  days  grew  longer  and  warmer,  and  the  broad 
outlying  meadows  were  ripening  for  the  harvest,  Miss 
Barbara  and  Amy  made  ready  to  accompany  the  invalid 
on  his  search  for  health  among  the  mountains  of  old  Vir- 
ginia. "There  they  go,  for  all  the  world  like  a  rettynoo," 
exclaimed  Jacob  Martin's  wife,  watching  the  party  off, — 
Mr.  Cheswick  bolstered  in  the  big  family  carriage,  with 
Jacob,  much  to  the  coachman's  disgust,  insisting  upon 
guiding  the  horses  until  they  were  well  over  the  Cliff-road, 
mindful  and  tender  of  the  burden  he  carried  ;  Amy  driving 
Miss  Bab  in  the  pony  phaeton,  and  a  trim  Buttons  following 
on  the  gentle-riding  pony  that  had  been  set  aside  for  her 

13 


146  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

use  since  her  advent  at  Cheswick.  The  day  was  most  pro- 
pitious. The  clear  waters  of  the  creek  wore  the  pale-green 
hue  of  the  sea,  and  the  atmosphere  about  the  mill  was 
misty  with  the  white  simoon  that  floated  out  from  the 
low-droning  burs.  By  the  doctor's  advice  they  made  the 
entire  journey  by  private  conveyance,  crossing  the  Poto- 
mac by  the  ferry  that  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  picturesque 

town  of  W ,  with  its  panoramic  views  from  either 

bank,  its  gray  old  aqueduct,  its  canal  and  sluggish  lock 
that  gave  you  no  hint  of  its  vicinity  until  the  boats  came 
gliding  down  with  tarantella  of  horn,  and  were  lifted 
safely  through  the  gates  on  their  way  to  the  market  town. 

Fair  and  peaceful  the  green  and  brown  fields  of  Berke- 
ley and  Frederick  lay  in  the  gray  summer  haze,  and  Amy 
drove  along  the  white  road  behind  the  slowly  bowling 
carriage,  feeling  the  ceaseless  pain  at  her  heart  lulled  by 
the  exceeding  calm  of  the  landscape.  The  partisan  fury 
that  had  so  lately  raged  in  those  quiet  valleys  had  left  its 
traces  upon  the  gray  walls  of  the  old  churches  that  here 
and  there  crowned  the  slopes  of  the  hills,  but  the  gloss  of 
green  leaves,  the  glow  of  scarlet  berries  did  their  best  to 
hide  the  ravages  made  by  fire  and  steel,  and  over  all 
stretched  the  fairest  sky,  through  all  floated  the  balmiest 
atmosphere.  It  was  like  Eden  restored,  that  exquisite 
valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  on  that  bright  June  day,  and 
the  bloody  memories  of  the  near  past  were  far  away  from 
the  longing,  loving  heart  of  the  girl  as  she  drove  along 
it,  cheered  by  the  bounteous  aspect  of  our  Magna  Mater, 
who,  with  all  the  pain  she  inflicts,  still  holds  such  golden 
treasures  of  air  and  sunshine  for  her  sorrowful  children. 

At  Winchester  they  stopped  overnight,  but  a  persistent 
summer  rain  kept  them  prisoners  there  for  several  days. 
The  black  mud  waxed  in  the  streets,  and  for  all  its  his- 
toric traditions  the  invalid  voted  it  "a  dingy  old  place," 


"  CLARCHEN."  !47 

and  Miss  Bab  decided  that  "  the  old  town  needed  a  coat 
of  whitewash  well  laid  on."  But  Amy  knew  better.  On 
the  last  evening  of  their  durance  therein,  when  the  clouds 
had  lifted  just  in  time  to  give  them  a  glorious  bit  of  Lor- 
raine color  in  the  sunset,  Amy,  well  protected  by  rubbers 
and  water-proof,  and  followed  by  Buttons,  who  was  as- 
signed the  willing  task  of  waiting  upon  her  every  footstep, 
made  a  tour  of  the  picturesque  old  town  and  came  back 
to  tea  enchanted. 

"The  view  from  Mount  Hebron  Cemetery  would  recon- 
cile you  to  anything,  uncle,"  she  said.  But  the  invalid, 
more  irritable  than  usual  after  his  three  days'  enforced 
quietude,  was  in  no  mood  to  test  the  validity  of  AnTy's 
conclusions.  The  fourth  day  saw  them  moving  along, 
despite  the  miry  condition  of  the  roads  and  the  unreliable 
aspect  of  the  clouds. 

Do  you  know  that  delightful  little  resort,  only  a  few 
hours'  drive  from  Winchester,  set  in  a  semicircle  of  hills, 
with  the  most  charming  walks  in  its  vicinity,  where  the 
waters  are  varied  and  sparkling,  and  the  menu  anything 
you  may  desire  it,  from  fried  chicken  and  mashed  potatoes 
to  courses  in  endless  varieties  and  entremets  as  surprising 
as  French  cookery  can  make  them?  It  was  here  our 
travellers  pitched  their  tents,  figuratively  speaking,  and  Mr. 
Cheswick  found  himself  installed  in  a  roomy  ground-floor 
apartment, — the  second-story  rooms  being  misnomers  as  to 
space, — not  much  the  worse  for  his  week's  campaign  in  the 
fresh  air,  with  limitless  hopes  in  regard  to  the  benefit  to 
be  derived  from  the  pure  air  of  the  hills  and  the  medicinal 
quality  of  the  peculiar  spring  to  which  his  physician  had 
assigned  him. 

Our  party  attracted  much  attention  in  the  dining-room, 
— the  old  gentleman  wheeled  in  to  table  by  Jacob,  clerical- 
looking  in  habit  and  demeanor;  Miss  Bab  in  her  stiff 


148  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

black  silk  and  creamy  lace  cap,  and  Amy  with  her  graceful 
figure,  her  sunny  brown  hair,  and  those  perfect  features 
that  Lavater  would  have  loved  to  study.  Few  of  the 
habitues  had  come  in  as  yet. 

At  the  time  I  write  of,  Washington's  pet  chef  had  charge 
of  the  menu,  and  there  followed  him  out  to  those  green 
solitudes  detained  embassies  from  the  great  capital,  foreign 
visitors,  a  diplomat  or  two,  some  of  the  heads  of  the 
nation,  who  had  tested  his  abilities  at  those  creme  de  la 
creme  of  State  dinners,  and  who  during  the  interregnum 
of  duties  owed  the  country  were  not  unwilling  to  fortify 
the  brain  through  the  body, — and  some  charming  people 
from  all  parts  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

The  change  was  very  apparent  in  the  invalid  before  a 
fortnight  was  well  over ;  his  hands  trembled  less,  even 
Miss  Bab  could  begin  to  divine  his  meaning  as  his  mumb- 
ling grew  more  distinct,  and  Jacob  Martin  assured  Miss 
Amy  that  "t'squire  helped  hisself  a  heap  with  his  legs  to 
what  he'd  done  at  first." 

Amy,  to  whom  gayety  was  impossible  with  that  yearning 
anxiety  in  her  bosom,  held  herself  aloof  from  the  society 
of  the  place,  but  unconsciously  gained  fresh  tone  of  mind 
and  spirit  under  the  varied  influences  to  which  she  was 
exposed  from  her  stand-point  as  observer.  More  relieved 
from  anxiety  on  her  uncle's  account  than  she  had  been  for 
many  weeks,  and  finding  his  demands  upon  her  time  less 
constant  than  they  had  been  at  Cheswick,  she  spent  much 
time  rambling  with  Buttons  among  the  rocky  hills  and 
cantering  the  little  pony  along  the  leafy  lanes  of  the 
country  roads.  And  under  these  restful  new  influences 
her  heart  was  gaining  a  quiet  peace  more  like  hope  than 
any  feeling  she  had  experienced  for  many  months.  She 
paid  heavy  penalties  too  often  for  this  lapse,  which  her 
fond  heart  called  forgetfulness,  for  here,  where  nature  was 


"  CLARCHENS 


149 


so  rich  and  varied,  she  was  reminded  too  often  of  him  who 
was  wont  to  dive  with  her  into  its  hidden  depths  and  draw 
therefrom  its  choicest  treasures. 

But  the  strange  peace  came  back  to  her  heart,  and  she 
did  not  hold  it  a  heresy  against  him  she  loved.  Pure- 
minded,  honest  Amy,  her  creed  was  very  simple,  and  she 
rested  upon  it  with  a  sense  of  conviction  and  security 
that  she  might  have  sought  for  in  vain  among  the  much- 
mooted,  the  unsolved  problems  that  are  disturbing  so 
many  of  our  noblest  and  highest  lives,  alas !  What  availeth 
it,  this  vast  waste  of  thought  and  energy  on  a  subject  so 
simple  "  if  a  man  would  but  learn  it  and  heed"  ?  It  is 
like  reaching  out  impotent  hands  to  grasp  the  snows  of 
the  Matterhorn,  when  here  at  our  feet  in  Grindelwald  lie 
snows  of  a  purity  as  absolute,  only  in  looking  so  far  be- 
yond and  above  we  stumble  over  the  pure,  unmistakable 
evidences  of  the  truth  lying  in  our  very  paths,  and  stamp 
them  out  of  sight  beneath  our  hurrying,  groping  feet. 

But,  thank  God  !  though  "  the  times  are  evil  and  the 
days  are  waxing  late,"  there  are  still  those  who  cling  to 
the  old  moorings,  amid  the  conflicting  beliefs  and  turbu- 
lent doctrines  that  are  shaking  the  very  earth's  founda- 
tions ;  still  those  who  hold  with  unfaltering  hands  to  the 
creed  that  the  twelve  carried  from  that  "  upper  room" 
through  all  pain,  all  privation,  all  patient  martyrdom  of 
suffering  to  the  world  that  lay  beyond;  the  faith  that 
Athanasius  thundered  in  the  ears  of  princes  as  boldly  as 
to^  the  hermits  amid  the  desolate  wastes  of  the  desert ;  to 
the  high,  pure  simple  faith  that  sustained  Savonarola 
when,  in  the  fair  Italian  sunlight  of  that  May  morning, 
four  centuries  ago,  he  went  to  his  death  in  the  sight  of  the 
assembled  multitudes,  as  his  Master  did  before  him,  "for 
because  he  died  for  others  he  could  not  save  himself!" 

Ah,  thank  God  !  there  are  still  those  to  whom  heaven  is 
13* 


150  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

a  real  and  abiding  city,  with  golden  streets,  a  shining 
river,  and  a  Tree  of  Life  bearing  in  its  fruits  healing  for 
all  the  nations,  despite  the  formidable  array  of  isms  drawn 
up  to  wage  battle  against  the  old  beliefs,  last  and  most 
pagan  of  which  stands  that  which  prates  of  a  body  to  be 
made  comfortable  and  fed  on  all  unctuous  juices,  while 
the  soul,  "  borne  on  the  wings  of  restless  winds,  goes 
roaming  all  abroad  !" 

Still  those,  thank  God  !  even  in  these  degenerate  days, 
who,  rather  than  renounce  the  old  paths,  would,  like  Poly- 
carp  of  old,  defy  the  threat  of  the  wild  beasts  and  lift 
an  undaunted  brow  even  to  the  cry  of  "  Christianas  ad 
konest" 

There  is  much  heresy,  much  skepticism,  much  auda- 
cious fruitless  questioning  and  open  unbelief,  but  there 
are  also  many  to  whom  Eu-angelion  still  carries  the  happy 
and  blessed  message,  and  to  whom  unity  of  doctrine  is 
more  than  a  memento  of  the  ever-receding  centuries. 

"He  knows  my  needs,"  said  Amy  in  her  simple  un- 
questioning faith  in  Him  who  had  dealt  such  largesse  of 
bounty  to  earth  and  sky,  "  and  if  the  blessings  I  covet  are 
best  for  me  they  will  come  in  His  good  time."  And  so 
she  grew  content,  helped  to  patience  by  the  beauty  and 
glow  of  the  summer  and  the  varied  interests  that  sur- 
rounded her.  At  Cheswick  budding  bough  and  emerald 
sward  were  fraught  with  associations  that  brought  her  only 
pain ;  she  would  not  have  been  so  brave  there. 

Among  the  later  arrivals,  Amy  grew  interested  in  qne 
couple  from  the  persistency  with  which  circumstances 
threw  them  in  her  way, — a  grave  middle-aged  man  and  a 
girl  in  deep  mourning,  who  from  her  extremely  youthful 
appearance  seemed  to  have  barely  escaped  the  bondage 
of  the  school-room  and  short  dresses.  She  stumbled  upon 
them  constantly,  at  the  springs,  in  her  solitary  walks  among 


"CLARCHEN."  151 

the  hills,  in  her  attendance  upon  her  uncle  when  Jacob 
wheeled  his  chair  out  into  the  shade  upon  the  lawn. 
They  came  to  speech  one  day,  Amy  and  the  young  girl 
in  black.  It  happened  in  this  wise :  Amy  was  sitting  be- 
neath a  tree  near  the  croquet-ground,  watching  a  group 
of  young  people  engaged  in  the  game.  Opposite  stood 
the  girl  in  mourning, — so  often  her  vis-a-vis, — aloof,  as 
was  Amy,  from  participation*in  the  game,  but,  unlike  her, 
following  its  course  with  interested  eyes,  and  aiding  a  de- 
linquent now  and  then  by  timely  advice.  She  turned  her 
back  upon  the  game,  however,  before  it  was  half  played 
out,  and  came  sauntering  over  to  where  Amy  sat,  a  book 
in  her  lap,  and  her  face  half  shaded  by  her  wide  garden- 
hat. 

"Excuse  me,  please,"  she  said,  throwing  herself  on 
the  soft  sward  at  Amy's  side,  "I  can  fight  with  destiny  no 
longer ;  it  has  thrown  me  four  feet  in  front  of  you  a  dozen 
times  a  day  for  the  last  week.  My  name  is  Julia  Vos- 
burgh,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  peculiar,  quiz- 
zical smile. 

Amy  accepted  the  frankly-proffered  hand  with  a  cordial 
smile  in  return.  What  curiously  bright,  imperious  eyes 
and  what  rich  flickering  color  were  in  this  youthful  face ! 
"  My  name  is  Amy  Randolph,  and  I  am  very  glad  to 
know  you." 

"Amy  Randolph!  what  a  harmonious  sound  it  has! 
but  really  now,"  with  that  quizzical  smile,  "am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  you  mean  what  you  say,  or  is  it  merefafon 
de parler  about  caring  to  know  me?" 

"It  is  not/afon  de  parler ;"  laughed  Amy,  commisera- 
ting the  worldliness  of  this  very  young  girl ;  "  I  meant  it, 
indeed.  Ever  since  you  came  I  have  been  regarding  you 
half  wistfully,  I  believe,  for  I  have  known  so  few  near  my 
own  age." 


152 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


"Why,  how  is  that?"  asked  Miss  Vosburgh,  regarding 
Amy  curiously  with  those  brilliant  dark  eyes. 

"  We  lived  alone,  my  mother  and  I,  in  a  very  retired 
country  home  in  Fauquier  County,  Virginia,  and  she 
taught  me  books  and  music  until  she  died." 

"Then  you  went  to  school?" 

"  No  ;  then  I  went  to  my  uncle,  the  invalid  over  there 
in  his  chair.  I  never  went  to  school  a  day  in  my  life, 
but  I  have  studied  a  good  deal,  notwithstanding,"  and 
her  eyes  clouded  over  with  the  memory  of  those  days 
under  the  mulberry  at  Cheswick. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Miss  Vosburgh,  with  the  air  of  one 
who  settles  a  mooted  question,  "one  doesn't  learn  the 
half  of  what  one  knows  at  school." 
„   "No,  I  should  think  not,"  said  Amy. 

"Well,  don't  you  play  croquet  and  dance?"  continued 
her  catechist,  "  or  do  any  other  of  those  foolish  things 
that  girls  delight  in  doing?" 

"I  play  croquet,  but  I  have  never  learned  to  dance." 

"  Ah,  I  wish  I  could  teach  you ;  I  do  so  love  to  dance, 
but,"  with  a  glance  down  at  her  mourning  dress,  "I 
couldn't  now:  mamma  died  nearly  nine  months  ago; 
not  my  own  mamma,  oh,  no,  but  papa's  second  wife,  a 
very  sweet  delicate  woman,  but  I  knew  her  so  little  !  I  am 
sorrier  for  papa  than  for  myself.  My  mother  was  French  ; 
Julie  D'Angennes  of  Rambouillet  fame  was  her  ances- 
tress, and  mamma  had  her  name,  which  has  been  given 
to  the  eldest  daughter  of  every  generation  since.  I  am 
named  Julie,  only  they  call  me  Julia  here  with  their  love 
of  long  syllables.  Papa  says  'Juke,'  as  mamma  did.  But 
I  am  talking  all  about  myself.  Well,  and  are  you  not 
very  lonely  ?' ' 

"  But  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  of  yourself.  And  you  are 
really  a  descendant  of  sweet  Julie  D'Angennes  of  the 


CLARCHEN." 


153 


salon,  who  loved  her  Huguenot  lover  so  well,  and  made 
him  such  a  noble  wife  after  long  years  of  waiting  !  I 
shall  fancy  you  have  inherited  her  noble  qualities." 

"  Julee"  laughed  a  little  scornfully.  "  How  long  do  the 
psychologists  allow  for  traits  to  run  out, — how  many  gen- 
erations ?  I  believe  I  inherit  nothing  from  the  fair  lady 
of  the  salon  but  my  predilection  for  banter,  which  most 
people  with  French  blood  in  their  veins  inherit  along  with 
me.  But  you  have  not  told  me, — are  you  lonely  ?" 

"  Not  now  ;  I  enjoy  the  new  scenes  and  fresh  faces.  I 
am  not  lonely  now." 

Ah,  girl,  with  your  shining  imperious  eyes  you  cannot 
look  back  over  the  dark  and  lonesome  road  that  young 
soul  has  travelled : 

"  So  lonely  'twas  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be  !" 

"I  should  die  of  ennui  compelled  to  read  and  ramble 
and  follow  that  old  man's  chair  !" 

Amy  smiled  a  little  dubiously.  "  It  is  impossible  to 
gauge  the  extent  of  other's  blessings  by  comparing  them 
with  one's  own,"  she  said;  "and  yet  it  is  a  mistake  we 
often  make." 

Miss  Vosburgh  regarded  her  new  acquaintance  curiously. 
"  I  am  not  used  to  making  these  nice  shades  of  distinc- 
tion." And  there  was  a  clearly  scornful  ring  in  the  high 
silvery  tones. 

"  It  is  necessary  in  order  to  be  just." 

"Then  justice  obtains  so  rarely  because  we  allow  our 
personality  to  color  our  judgment,  is  that  what  you  mean, 
Miss  Randolph  ?  What  a  nice  little  lesson  you  have  read 
me." 

"I  had  no  such  intention,"  said  Amy,  coloring  under 
the  sarcasm  in  the  laughing  tones. 


'54 


IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 


"  Then  I  shall  consider  it  in  the  light  of  a  gratuity  and 
thank  you  all  the  same.  There,  did  I  not  warn  you  of 
my  unlucky  inheritance?  but,  seriously,  it  is  so  diverting 
to  meet  one  like  you,  serious  and — and  ingenu.  Indeed, 
you  are  very  queer.  Oh,  don't  go,  please  !  I  know  I 
have  been  impertinent,  but  I  have  an  honest  desire  to  be 
your  friend.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  these  long 
days  here  ?  I  am  tired  of  them  already." 

"  Pursue  the  routine  that  looks  so  obnoxious  to  you," 
replied  Amy,  mischievously  ;  "  read  and  ramble  and  fol- 
low my  uncle's  chair." 

"Won't  you  let  me  come  to  see  your  uncle  some  day, 
and  that  withered  little  black-eyed  woman,  who  surely  has 
not  Penelope's  excuse  for  knitting  so  continually  as  she 
does." 

Both  girls  laughed;  but  Amy's  eyes  grew  very  grave 
thereafter,  for  Miss  Vosburgh's  simile  was  apter  than  she 
knew.  Poor  Miss  Bab  knit  faster  and  harder  than  ever  to 
escape  the  importunities  of  bitter  memories. 

"  I  do  not  know  about  taking  you  to  my  uncle.  I  am 
distressed  to  be  so  rude,  but  he  never  sees  strangers,  and 
Aunt  Bab, — I  think  you  would  scarcely  care  to  know 
Aunt  Bab." 

"Ah,  well,"  and  "Julee"  threw  her  lissom  figure 
into  graceful  Hogarthian  curves  on  the  yielding  turf  be- 
neath the  tree,  "  you  can  do  as  you  choose  about  that,  of 
course,  but  I  am  not  to  be  tabooed  your  society,"  with  an 
irresistible  accent  of  pleading  in  her  silvery  voice  that  very 
few  were  able  to  withstand.  "  When  the  monotonous  hours 
pall  upon  me  you  will  let  me  come  to  you  and  refresh  my- 
self in  these  cool  green  solitudes?" 

"  Indeed,"  said  Amy,  laughing  at  the  hyperbole  of  her 
speech,  "  you  will  give  more  pleasure  than  you  receive, 
for  to  you  I  am  but  one  of  the  myriad  girls  you  have  met 


"  CLARCHEN."  155 

and  have  been  amused  by,  while  to  me  you  are  a  single 
revelation,  the  first  of  its  kind." 

The  girl  jumped  to  a  sitting  posture,  with  that  rich 
flickering  color  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks.  "You 
delightful  creature!"  she  cried,  "positively,  you  inspire 
me  with  new  energy  on  this  hottest  of  June  days.  You  have 
given  me  an  impulse  to  my  life  here,  an  actual  aim  to  my 
existence !  See  if  I  don't  teach  you  what  a  fine  thing  it 
is  to  be  one  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls,  and  as  you 
progress  in  your  study  of  your  species  you  will  give  me, 
in  exchange  for  the  experience  I  shall  afford  you,  a  few  of 
those  quaint,  serious  thoughts  that  you  suspected  me  of 
sneering  at  a  moment  ago.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

"  A  very  unequal  one,"  smiled  Amy  ;  "  but  if  you  are 
satisfied  I  am." 

"What  book  is  that  you  have?  Ah,  Heine.  My 
grandfather  knew  Heine.  My  father  is  German,  not  only 
by  descent  but  by  birth ;  so  you  will  please  observe  that, 
though  I  am  an  American  citizen,  I  have  unadulterated 
foreign  blood  in  my  veins." 

"  I  thought  there  was  something  peculiar  about  you," 
said  Amy,  candidly,  regarding  her  new  friend  with  naive 
interest. 

"  Well,  apropos  of  your  book.  My  grandfather  knew 
Heine,  and  paid  him  a  visit  a  very  short  while  before 
he  died.  I  have  heard  my  father  talk  of  it.  Heine  was 
querulous  from  pain  and  lethargic  from  opiates,  and 
scarcely  recognized  my  grandfather  when  he  entered ;  but 
before  he  left  he  awoke,  began  discussing  a  subject,  and 
became  so  interested  and  enthusiastic  that  he  talked  su- 
perbly and  brilliantly  for  hours.  Do  you  know  German? 
I  heard  you  singing  '  Seid  meiner  wonne  stille  zeugenj  from 
'Stradella,'  did  I  not,  last  evening?" 

"Yes;  my  uncle  is  fond  of  the  German  words;  he  taught 


!56  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT, 

me  their  proper  pronunciation,  but  I  know  very  little  of 
the  language." 

"  It  is  a  joyous  strain,  fit  for  such  a  morning  as  this  with 
its  azure  skies  !"  And  Miss  Vosburgh  trolled  the  refrain 
in  a  rich  silvery  mezzo-soprano  that  rang  through  the  green 
alleys  like  a  chime  of  bells, — 

"  'Allu  theile  unser  Cluck  !'  " 

"  How  wonderfully  you  sing  !"  Amy  heaved  a  sigh  of 
delight  when  the  beautiful  voice  ceased. 

"I  have  had  the  best  tuition,  both  at  home  and  abroad," 
said  this  singular  young  woman.  "  I  took  vocal  lessons  at 
Milan  a  long  time,  but  it  was  labor  wasted.  What  a  fool- 
ish idea  Americans  have  that  they  must  go  abroad  to 
study  music  !  I  accomplished  more  than  as  much  again 
in  Boston  as  I  did  all  the  while  I  was  trying  the  foreign 
schools,  and  for  a  poor  girl  to  go  to  Italy  for  a  musical 
career, — I  can't  conceive  of  any  scheme  so  fruitless,  unless 
of  course  she  owns  a  phenomenal  voice,  and  is  picked  up 
by  some  manager's  agent.  We  have  led  a  very  roving  life, 
papa  and  I,  until  he  met  mamma  and  married  again  ;  but 
it  was  what  I  liked,  for  we  gained  an  immense  fund  of 
ideas  as  well  as  amusement." 

"  You  are  very  young  to  have  lived  such  a  varied  life." 

"  Older  than  you,  I  dare  venture,  Miss  Randolph :  nine- 
teen last  month.  I  am  a  May-bird,  '  unlucky  month  for 
babe  and  bride,'  the  old  rhyme  runs;  but  I  look  so 
young,  perhaps,  because  I  have  never  in  my  life  known 
a  sorrow,  except  when  mamma  died,  and  that  was  so 
long  ago  that  I  can  only  remember  the  pretty  dresses  she 
wore,  and  her  soft  voice  when  she  called  me  'Julee. '  So  you 
see  I  am  a  very  wholesome  refutation  of  all  that  superstitious 
twaddle  about  the  unlucky  month  of  May.  Now,  what 


"  CLARCHEN." 


157 


do  those  people  want?  Go  back,  Alfred!"  she  cried, 
as  a  gentleman  started  from  the  croquet-ground,  evidently 
deputized  by  his  companions  to  fetch  her.  "  Go  back, 
sir  !  There's  no  such  thing  as  justice  to  be  expected  when 
you  are  captain  of  the  opposition,  and  I  am  tired  of 
being  umpire,  it  is  a  thankless  vocation.  I  shall  have  to 
go  ;  or  wait,  won't  you  let  me  introduce  some  of  them  to 
you  ?  They  are  all  friends  of  mine,  and  might  serve  to 
amuse  you  when  you  tire  of  studying  the  genus  in  me. 
Very  well,"  reading  the  mute  protest  in  her  new  friend's 
eyes,  "  I  don't  want  to  influence  you  against  your  will. 
But  you  will  not  refuse  to  let  me  make  a  second  at  your 
seances  under  the  trees  ?' '  She  stood  for  a  moment  watch- 
ing Amy  pass  from  the  shadows  into  the  sunlight,  and 
again  into  the  shadows,  until  she  reached  her  uncle's  chair, 
then  she  went  over  to  her  friends. 

"  She  is  the  loveliest  creature  !  But  she  has  refused  to 
know  any  of  you.  Don't  look  so  forlorn,  Mr.  Marshall; 
let  us  hope  that  her  decisions  are  not  as  unalterable 
as  Persian  edicts.  And  wily  "Julee"  laughed  in  her 
sleeve,  knowing  in  her  world-wise  young  soul  that  to 
have  thrown  a  halo  of  mystery  around  her  new  friend  was 
to  have  created  an  innovation  in  her  favor. 

"Uncle,"  said  Amy,  late  that  evening,  when  with  a 
low  chair  drawn  to  his  side  she  sat  ready  to  read  to  him 
from  his  evening  paper,  "I  met  a  very  interesting  young 
girl  this  morning,  a  Miss  Vosburgh,  who  has  lived  on 
the  wing,  as  it  were,  nearly  all  her  life,  but  has  learned 
all  her  best  things,  she  says,  in  America.  She  is  very 
interesting,  and  reminds  me  constantly  of  Clarchen  in 
the  play  of  'Egmont,'  the  only  play  I  ever  saw.  It 
was  when  mamma  and  I  visited  Cousin  Helen  Agnew 
in  Baltimore,  years  ago."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "I 
wish  you  would  let  me  bring  her  to  see  you  some  day. 


158  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

She  has  seen  so  much,  and  talks  well ;  she  would  amuse 
you." 

"Like  Clarchen  !"  Another  had  said  that  of  "  Julee;" 
but  how  was  Amy  to  know  that  ?  and  had  she  known,  what 
interest  would  it  have  created  in  her,  to  whom  all  were 
strangers  beyond  the  pale  of  the  little  world  in  which  her 
young  life  had  been  spent  ? 

As  she  knelt  that  night  and  prayed,  "Oh,  God! 
keep  him  by  Thy  guidance,  save  him  from  further  sin 
wherever  he  is,  and  bring  us  one  day  to  meet  again,  if 
such  be  Thy  holy  will,"  and  arose  from  her  knees  com- 
forted, patient,  resigned,  how  little  did  she  dream  that 
"Juice's"  bright-shining,  proud  young  eyes  had  looked 
him  over  but  nine  short  months  ago,  that  in  "Juice's" 
book-case  at  home  lay  the  old  brown  volume  that  they 
two  had  studied  together  when,  under  the  mulberry-tree 
in  the  pleasaunce  at  Cheswick,  he  had  laughed  at  her  eyes 
grown  sad  over  the  story  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  and  the 
tragedy  hid  in  the  heart  of  the  purple  fruit ! 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"MAIEN-DUFT  !" 

"  I  will  drink  life  to  the  lees." 

TENNYSON'S  Ulysses. 

IT  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  Amy  the  next  day  when 
Mr.  Cheswick  bade  her  invite  Miss  Vosburgh  to  pay  him 
a  visit  in  his  room.  Jacob  was  sent  immediately  with  a 
note,  and  in  a  few  hours  afterward  he  announced  the  young 
lady,  who  was  accompanied  by  her  father.  Miss  Bab  met 
them  with  hearty  old-fashioned  hospitality.  The  good 
old  creature  was  pre-eminently  social,  and  enjoyed  meet- 
ing strangers  with  a  keen  relish, — an  indulgence  she  had 
denied  herself  many  long  years.  The  call  lengthened 
unfashionably.  Miss  Bab  drew  out  her  knitting,  lending 
the  while  a  very  attentive  ear  to  the  conversation  between 
her  brother  and  Mr.  Vosburgh,  surprised  and  delighted 
that  the  stranger  found  no  difficulty  in  understanding  her 
brother's  muffled  sentences. 

"Your  aunt  would  be  called  a  tricoteur  in  France," 
Miss  Vosburgh  said  sotto  voce  to  Amy. 

"And  what  is  a  tricoteur  ?"  asked  Amy,  half  laughing, 
warned  by  the  mischief  in  those  dark  flashing  eyes. 

"  A  tricoteur  is  a  female  who  knits  during  a  political 
discussion.  Come,  go  over  to  the  parlor  and  sing  that 
'Stradella,'  won't  you?" 

But  Amy  protested  ;  it  was  only  to  please  her  uncle 
that  she  ever  sang.  Miss  Vosburgh  interrupted  her  in  her 
bright,  imperious  way.  "Allans  /"  she  cried,  leading  the 


160  JN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

way  to  the  parlor.  It  was  empty ;  the  guests  were  out 
in  the  grounds  or  in  their  rooms.  Amy  sat  down  to  the 
piano  and  launched  into  the  strain  bravely  after  the  first 
few  lines,  for  she  was  slightly  abashed  at  singing  for  this 
travelled  young  woman,  who  had  criticised  the  schools  of 
Milan. 

"  Seid  meiner  wonne  stille  zeugen  /"  There  was  no 
straining  after  effect  in  the  round  full  tones,  but  the  voice 
was  music's  own,  true  and  clear  in  every  note  and  flex- 
ible to  a  surprising  degree. 

Miss  Vosburgh  laughed  gayly,  sweeping  her  off  the  stool 
with  a  little  gesture  of  delight.  "You  sing  delightfully, 
as  the  birds  sing,"  she  cried,  turning  the  leaves  back 
hastily  until  she  found  the  strain  she  wanted.  "  '  Oh, 
trocknet  nicht  /'  "  she  quoted  :  "  why  did  you  look  so  sad 
when  you  came  to  that  ?  Don't  answer  if  I  am  imper- 
tinent." 

"Did  I  look  sad?"  faltered  Amy — what  keen  eyes 
this  girl  had  ! — "  it  is  a  vain  plaint ;  how  can  we  expect 
to  keep  the  'dew-drop  on  the  floweret's  tress?'  ' 

"Who  wants  to?  The  dew-drop  is  very  fresh  and 
pure  and  all  that,  but  for  me,  I  like  the  high  noon  best !" 

The  flying  fingers  chased  each  other  up  and  down  the 
key-board  in  a  wild  Irish  galop,  and  the  dark  eyes  glowed, 
the  rich  lips  laughed  with  the  undaunted  spirit  of  happy 
youth,  youth  that  had  never  known  a  sorrow.  Ah,  it  was 
likely  to  be  "high  noon"  with  her  for  many  a  day  to 
come.  She  played  on  at  Amy's  earnest  solicitation,  for 
never  had  the  country  girl  heard  such  music  as  that,  fluent 
and  expressive,  with  the  brilliant  and  faultless  technique 
that  betrayed  the  artist. 

Jacob  came  to  the  door  and  put  an  end  to  this  season 
of  delight.  Mr.  Vosburgh  was  waiting  for  his  daughter, 
and  so  this  unconventional  call  came  to  an  end. 


"MAIEN-DUFTT  161 

"What  a  beauty  she  is!"  cried  old  Miss  Bab  in  a 
rapture  the  moment  the  door  was  closed  upon  them. 

"And  her  father  —  a  gentleman,  and  a  clever  fellow," 
mumbled  her  brother.  Amy  said  nothing.  "  Oh,  frock- 
net  nicht!"  The  strain  rang  in  her  ears.  Were  these 
new  scenes  and  new  faces  blotting  out  the  memory  of 
those  happy  days  that  had  vanished  like  "the  dew-drops 
on  the  floweret's  tress?"  "Oh,  vanish  not!"  It  was  a 
vain  plaint,  as  she  had  said. 


* 


"Ah,"  cried  "Julee"  next  morning  from  her  seat  at 
a  near  table,  "good-morning,  Miss  Randolph!  This  is 
'  Morgen  sonne?  if  it  is  not  '  Maien-duftj1  "  with  her  white 
hands  curved  over  her  arch  laughing  eyes  to  shield  them 
from  a  too  persistent  sunbeam,  "and  I  think  you  will 
scarcely  have  your  dew-drops  long  to-day." 

Many  in  the  room  turned  to  look  at  her  as  she  spoke, 
the  beautiful,  imperious  creature,  who  seemed  indeed  the 
very  "breath  of  May."  And  old  Miss  Bab  nodded  to 
her  cordially  and  whispered  to  her  brother,  "  Jsn'tshe  a 
beauty,  Robert?" 

"Please,  Miss  Cheswick,  won't  you  let  me  carry  your 
niece  off  to  my  room  for  a  while  this  morning?  it  would 
be  such  a  charity  to  me  if  you  would,"  pleaded  Miss 
Vosburgh,  after  breakfast,  following  the  old  lady  on  her 
way  across  the  hall  to  her  brother's  room.  And  Miss 
Bab,  bewildered  at  the  bare  supposition  that  she  was 
supposed  to  exercise  authority  over  any  one,  least  of  all 
over  Amy,  conceded  with  a  deprecating  eagerness  that 
brought  the  lurking  dimples  around  Miss  Vosburgh's 
mouth  into  full  play  ;  for  a  shrewd,  keen  reader  of  faces 
was  this  cosmopolitan  young  lady. 

"Aliens!"  she  cried,  with  her  favorite  exclamation, 
"  I  shall  shock  you  with  a  sight  of  my  room,  which  when 

14* 


!62  Iff  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

I  am  not  at  home  is  always  in  a  chaotic  condition.  Bah! 
how  little  Rauch  knew  about  women  when  he  said  order 
was  their  chief  prerogative.  My  possessions  stand  in  the 
same  beautiful  relation  to  each  other  as  the  guests  at  a 
Fejee  feast, — there  is  no  particular  place  for  any  one  of 
them." 

And  indeed  she  had  not  exaggerated  the  existing 
condition  of  things,  as  Amy  soon  perceived.  The  win- 
dows, the  tables,  and  brackets  were  loaded  with  all  sorts 
of  belongings  in  antagonistic  collections, — bangles  and 
bric-a-brac,  crayons  and  chess-board,  bonbon  boxes  and 
bonnet-pins. 

"See!  here  are  papa's  bitters  where  my  Florida-water 
should  be,  and  a  pack  of  lead-pencils  reposing  in  my  hair- 
pin basket !  Alfred, — that  is  my  cousin,  Mr.  Courte- 
nay, — sharpened  them  for  me  yesterday.  I  could  not 
refuse  him  that  meagre  opportunity  of  airing  his  superi- 
ority. Men  crow  over  the  strongest  of  us  in  the  matter 
of  sharpening  lead-pencils,  and  justly,  for  I  wonder  if, 
from  the  days  of  Sappho  down,  there  ever  lived  a  woman 
who  could  round  a  pencil-point?  Rounding  periods  is 
nothing  to  it !" 

"Your  book-shelves  match  the  rest  of  your  collections. 
I  should  say  your  mind  was  a  cosmopolite  also." 

Amy  had  turned  to  the  swinging  shelves  in  an  alcove 
and  was  looking  over  its  contents.  What  queer,  whimsi- 
cal taste  the  girl  must  have  if  these  shelves  were  any 
indication.  These  were  odd  themes  for  a  summer-day 
amusement. 

"Yes;  I  read  everything.  For  instance:  I  cannot 
expect  to  escape  the  tender  passion,  so  I  read  that  'Re- 
medio  Amoris'  in  case  the  god  should  not  be  propitious 
and  I  might  find  myself  devoid  of  a  remedy." 

But  Amy  scarcely  heard  the  gay,  careless  words ;  she 


"MAIEN-DUFT!"  T63 

was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  she  held  with  a 
strange  dreamy  pain  at  her  heart.  The  familiar  lines  of 
the  old  poet  wore  the  aspect  of  her  past,  and  it  is  not 
with  a  smile  that  we  look  upon  the  cold  features  of  our 
dead. 

There  came  a  light  tap  at  the  door.  "Am  I  intrud- 
ing?" asked  a  girlish  voice,  followed  by  a  slight,  fair- 
haired  figure  in  blue,  whom  Amy  recognized  at  a  glance 
as  one  of  the  party  whom  she  had  refused  to  know. 

"It  is  highly  probable  you  are, — Miss  Randolph,  Miss 
Harper, — but  I  suspect  it  would  be  time  wasted  to  ac- 
knowledge it." 

Miss  Harper  took  a  rocking-chair,  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  "Juice's"  impertinence.  Then  the  three  girls 
lapsed  into  animated  talk,  as  girls  will  on  a  hot  summer 
day,  given  time  and  place,  no  matter  how  new  to  each 
other. 

"Do  you  ever  come  to  Baltimore,  Miss  Randolph?" 
asked  the  fair-haired  intruder  during  a  pause  in  the  con- 
versation. 

"Years  ago  I  visited  a  cousin  of  mamma's,  a  widow, 
but  have  never  been  there  since." 

"And  your  cousin,  who  was  she?" 

"  Mrs.  Agnew,  Helen  Agnew ;  she  lived  with  her 
father,  Major  Duncan,  near  the  Monument." 

"She  is  a  widow  no  longer,  but  Mrs.  Holborne,  a 
gay  society  leader,  who  keeps  open  house  all  the  season 
through.  You  would  do  well  to  revive  your  relationship, 
Miss  Randolph.  It  would  be  pleasant  for  you,  perhaps." 

But  Amy  waived  the  subject  gracefully.  She  did  not 
wish  to  appear  singular  to  these  young  girls,  who  both 
seemed  to  consider  life  only  as  a  means  of  amusement. 
She  could  not  explain  to  them  the  difference  between  her 
life  and  theirs. 


1 64  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

"Miss  Randolph,"  said  her  hostess  at  parting,  "I 
really  begin  to  suspect  that  you  make  a  scapegoat  of  your 
poor  old  uncle  for  all  your  sins  of  omission.  I  think  I 
shall  take  him  by  storm,  as  I  did  your  aunt  this  morning, 
and  gain  carte  blanche  for  you  to  favor  my  whims." 

And  some  time  later  she  made  good  her  threat.  The 
invalid  had  grown  to  watch  for  her  coming ;  she  was  a 
pleasant  companion  even  for  him,  arraying  her  graphic 
pictures  of  varied  scenes  lived  through  against  his  ex- 
periences, that  were  gained  mostly  through  books,  and 
reaping  a  very  satisfactory  result  from  the  process,  both 
for  herself  and  for  him.  To  Mr.  Cheswick,  chained  to  his 
chair  the  long  hours  through,  it  created  a  diversion  in  the 
monotony  of  the  days  to  follow  her  eager,  glowing  speech 
as  she  recounted  personal  interviews  with  some  of  the 
celebres  that  he  had  only  known  from  books,  or  depicted 
foreign  customs  and  criticised  the  peculiarities  of  different 
'nationalities  with  a  graphic  power  of  description  that  lent 
them  the  charm  of  faithful  portraits.  It  was  amusing  to 
hear  her  strictures  on  "  d'une  societe  polie"  in  the  land 
of  her  adoption,  and  to  watch  her  betray  her  French 
blood  in  the  indignation  with  which  she  scouted  his  ex- 
pressed opinion  that  Frenchwomen  had  retrograded  in  all 
of  woman's  fairest  attributes  since  her  lofty  ancestress's 
day,  when  the  salon  bleu  erected  its  standard  of  perfec- 
tion and  purity  in  the  midst  of  the  most  dissolute  court 
in  Europe.  "The  stilted  formal  life  at  Rambouillet," 
she  said  one  day,  with  the  color  coming  and  going  in 
her  face,  indignant  at  his  charge  of  absurdity  against  her 
ancestors,  "was  but  the  natural  reflux  of  the  looseness 
and  informality  of  the  times,  not  but  that  it  was  the 
better  extreme  of  the  two,  but,  like  Arthur's  round  table, 
it  was  destined  to  dissolution,  for  only  in  Arcadia  do 
we  find  the  requirements  necessary  to  such  a  condition 


"MAIEN-DUFT!"  165 

of  things.  It  is  that  now,"  and  again  the  errant  color 
flickered  in  her  cheeks,  "we  see  something  of  the  juste 
milieu  preserved  in  polie  Paris,  unless,  indeed,  you  ac- 
cept Emile  Zola's  portraitures.  Papa  will  not  allow  me 
to  read  his  books,  but  he  has  given  me  all  their  salient 
points,  and  he  assures  me  that  he  deals  in  monstrosities  and 
illustrates  by  exceptions." 

"I  am  come  to  prefer  a  request  of  you,"  she  said  to 
him  one  day.  "  I  have  pondered  the  matter  seriously,  and 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  your  niece  shifts  her 
disinclination  to  join  us  young  folks  upon  a  pretended — 
or  shall  I  say  fancied? — obligation  to  you."  The  merry 
light  in  the  dark  eyes  disarmed  the  words  of  any  imper- 
tinent meaning. 

"Amy  has  grown  very  necessary  to  me,"  said  her 
uncle,  looking  at  the  girl  with  a  kind  smile,  "  but  I  have 
no  wish  to  debar  her  from  any  pleasure  she  may  wish  to 
take." 

"Then  you  will  join  us  to-morrow  in  our  picnic?" 

"Indeed,  you  must  excuse  me;  I  cannot." 

"My  dear  Miss  Randolph,  have  you  absolutely  no 
designs  upon  society  infuturo  ?" 

"None  whatever,"  and  the  glance  of  the  clear  brown 
eyes  was  very  steady.  "  My  uncle  knows  that  I  have  no 
desire  to  follow  in  the  prescribed  path  of  young  ladies  in 
my  position.  It  is  not  only  that  I  will  not  leave  him, 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  extend  the  circle  of  my  pleasures." 

For  a  single  instant  of  time  the  dauntless  young  for- 
eigner looked  dismayed,  but  she  recovered  herself  with  a 
gay  laugh. 

"White  and  soft  and  gentle  as  you  look,  you're  a  hard 
little  piece  of  flint  after  all !"  she  said.  "  People  have  a 
disagreeable  fashion  of  designating  my  peculiar  charac- 
teristic of  tenacity  as  obstinacy  :  they  will  never  call  it  that 


1 66  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

\nyou,  Miss  Randolph,  but  only  because  you  have  not 
black  eyes  that  flash,  and  odious  little  foreign  gestures 
that  make  one  seem  angry  and  imperious  when  one  is 
only  very  deeply  in  earnest !" 

Amy  took  the  firm  white  hand  in  her  own.  "You 
cannot  understand,"  she  said;  "how  should  you?" 

Her  uncle  called  her  to  his  side  when  their  visitor  had 
left.  "  Why  did  you  refuse  that  girl?"  he  asked,  queru- 
lously. 

"You  heard  me  give  her  my  reason,  uncle:  I  did  not 
wish  to  go." 

"But  you  have  another  reason  behind  that,  Amy;  I 
should  like  to  know  it." 

"  Uncle,  is  it  strange  that  I  should  avoid  strangers  ? 
What  strangers  have  I  ever  met  at  Cheswick?  The 
world  is  odd  and  foreign  to  me.  I  have  not  been  reared 
after  its  fashion  ;  I  have  not  been  educated  to  meet  its 
requirements;  and  besides — oh,  uncle! — could  we  find 
peace  in  the  world,  you  and  I?"  Then  she  turned  from 
him  in  a  sort  of  fright,  but  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
face,  and  saw  it  white,  from  the  clustering  brown  hair  to 
the  tremulous  lips. 

Then  he  knew !  then  he  understood !  and  he  had 
thought  that  she  had  escaped  the  upas-taint !  He  reached 
out  one  trembling  arm  and  drew  the  girl  to  his  side. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes,  tears  that  all  the  fiery  griefs 
of  his  own  life  had  failed  to  bring  there.  He  held  her 
close  to  him,  miserable,  broken-down  old  man,  and  let  the 
tears  fall  down  upon  her  hair. 

"God  forgive  me!"  he  murmured,  "I  thought  you 
had  forgotten,  or,  if  not  forgotten,  that  you  had  lived  it 
down." 

But  she  did  not  hear ;  she  only  knew  that  he  under- 
stood and  was  not  angry  ;  that  he  too  loved  and  mourned 


"  MAIEN-DUFT!"  167 

the  proud,  rash  lad  that  had  been  his  only  one.  "I 
could  not  go,"  she  said  at  last;  "you  will  not  let  them 
ask  me ;  my  heart  is  sore,"  with  a  shudder,  "  and  I  have 
more  patience  to  wait — with  you." 

"What  is  the  good  of  waiting?"  and  his  arm  fell  away 
from  her;  in  his  eyes  gleamed  the  old  fires  of  unrest.  "You 
are  young,  child,  you  may  wait;  but  I  am  old,  and  there 
is  no  reward  for  a  life  ill  spent."  He  leaned  back  among 
his  cushions  with  a  sharp,  deep  sigh.  "  Call  Jacob,  I  am 
tired." 

When  she  saw  him  again  he  had  resumed  his  usual  man- 
ner. There  was  not  a  trace  of  that  wild  storm  of  emotion 
on  his  face.  He  called  her  to  his  chair  and  looked  at  her 
coldly,  almost  critically,  and  she  was  surprised  beyond 
measure  at  his  words  when  he  spoke. 

"I  think  young  girls  scarcely  know  what  is  best  for 
them,"  he  said.  "You  must  let  me  be  the  judge  of  what 
you  owe  yourself  and  others.  Write  to  that  little  '  Maien- 
duft'  and  tell  her  you  will  go  to  the  picnic.  I  insist  that 
you  obey  me  in  this  matter,  Amy."  And  she  knew  when 
he  spoke  in  that  hard  cold  voice  there  was  no  appeal 
from  his  resolution.  But  she  could  not  look  in  his  heart 
and  see  how  it  was  yearning  toward  her,  nor  could  she 
know  that  he  took  this  step  with  the  purest  motives  for 
her  welfare. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ARCADIA. 

"  Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  note?" 

As  you  like  it. 

AMY  joined  the  picnic  next  day  as  her  uncle  had  com- 
manded, and  found,  after  the  manner  of  girls,  a  good 
deal  to  amuse  and  interest  her  in  the  day's  diversion. 
But  the  young  people  did  not  presume  upon  the  incident. 
Only  Julia  made  free  to  come  and  go  at  her  will.  "  My 
foreign  effronte  carries  me  through;  I  wouldn't  advise 
you  to  try  it  on  though,"  she  said  laughingly  to  Emma 
Harper,  who  marvelled  at  her  intimacy  with  "  that  re- 
served and  distant  Miss  Randolph."  But  Julia,  to  shield 
her  friend,  did  herself  injustice,  for  she  was  very  sure  of 
her  welcome,  either  in  Mr.  Cheswick's  sitting-room  or 
out  under  the  trees  where  Amy  sat  long  hours  through 
with  her  sun  hat  shading  her  features  and  a  favorite  book 
in  her  lap. 

A  warm  friendship  was  growing  between  them,  a  friend- 
ship which  was  destined  to  resist  the  heaviest  strains,  to 
endure  the  severest  test.  But  they  did  not  know  that, 
those  two,  as  they  exchanged  their  girlish  fancies  under 
the  spreading  shadows  of  the  trees,  the  one  chastened 
beneath  the  weight  of  a  present  and  abiding  sorrow,  the 
1 68 


ARCADIA.  i6g 

other  untamed,  unfettered,  with  no  vague  fear  of  what 
the  future  held  in  its  gift  for  weal  or  woe. 

"I  think  I  should  have  been  an  Arcadian  had  I  lived 
in  France  in  those  days  before  Rambouillet !"  cried  Julia, 
one  warm  July  day,  when  the  mercury  coquetted  with 
the  nineties  and  the  two  were  in  their  favorite  haunt  near 
the  croquet-ground, — 

"  '  Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me  ?' 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  been  a  fervent  disciple  of  D'Urfe, 
and  have  led  my  lambs  with  the  airiest  crook  imaginable, 
tied  with  my  favorite  color." 

"And  what  is  yuour  favorite  color?" 

"Red;  not  Pompeiian  or  dingy  cardinal,  but  glowing 
blood-red,  the  color  of  the  ruby  in  the  English  crown." 

"Red!"  laughed  Amy,  "you  would  have  set  the 
aesthetic  Arcadians  shuddering!" 

"  Nevertheless,  it  should  have  been  red,  not  pale-pink 
or  cerulean  blue  as  the  fashion  went.  Imagine  it !  al- 
ways to  lie  on  greenswards,  with  the  tinkling  lute  of  your 
shepherd  swain  waking  the  drowsy  echoes,  or  to  follow 
him  as  he  led  by  a  silken  string  the  snowiest  lamb  of 
the  '  milk-white  flock'  and  discoursed  on  the  beauties  of 
'  honnete  amitie. '  ' ' 

Had  "Julee"  figured  a  decade  later,  she  might  have 
found  anchorage  among  the  transcendental  philosophies 
of  Oscar  Wilde,  and  instead  of  languishing  for  the  role 
of  gentile  amie,  with  a  Des  Ivevaux  to  skip  by  her  side 
in  silken  hose,  to  the  gentle  twanging  of  his  lute,  she 
might  have  achieved  a  happiness  as  refined  in 

"  A  walk  down  Piccadilly,  with  a  poppy  and  a  lily 
In  (her)  mediaeval  hand !" 
15 


1 70 


IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 


But  the  "fourteenth  century  frenzy"  had  not  reached 
its  crisis  as  yet.  Artificial  bouquets  de  corsage  had  not 
been  tabooed  as  barbarous  infringements  of  a  special  law  ; 
there  were  no  indications  of  faint  lilies  in  the  wholesome 
atmosphere;  and  the  girl,  though  clairvoyant  in  much, 
could  not  have  predicted  the  developments  which  awaited 
high  art  in  the  near  future.  It  was  with  nothing  of  the 
Lady  Jane's  contempt  that  Amy  echoed  "red!"  when 
"  Julee"  chose  that  color  for  her  Arcadian  costume. 

"Red  and  yellow,  primary  colors!     O  South  Kensington!" 

The  pen  had  not  been  sharpened  for  that  denunciation 
of  the  dragoon  uniforms,  supposing  that  Gilbert  writes 
with  a  "gray  goose  quill,"  or,  as  would  be  more  sugges- 
tive in  this  age  of  dilettanteism,  with  a  Roman  stylus! 

Ah,  well,  as  our  patriotic  "Julee"  said  in  extenuation 
of  the  affectations  and  stilted  extremes  of  the  "Astree," 
it  led  to  the  enlargement  on  a  higher  plane  of  its  best 
features  in  the  organization  of  the  distinguished  salon 
bleu;  so,  let  us  hope,  may  our  present  aesthetic  trans- 
figuration bring  about  the  juste  milieu  in  the  pursuit  of 
true  art,  which  is  so  sad  a  desideratum  to-day. 

"Yes;  I  should  have  made  a  very  devoted  Arcadian, 
only  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  supported  life  in  a  garden  of 
the  Faubourg  until  I  was  ninety,  supposing  I  had  lived 
as  long  as  that  silly  old  ex-Governor  of  Caen." 

"To  say  nothing  of  the  rain,"  said  Amy,  "and  the 
increasing  infirmities  engendered  thereby, — rheumatism, 
lumbago,  and  last,  though  not  least,  a  very  un-Arcadian, 
unaesthetic  cold  in  the  nose  from  a  too  long  continued 
practice  of  sitting  on  damp  banks  of  muddy  ponds : 
there  were  such  in  Arcadia,  were  not  there?" 

"  What  matter,  they  were  called  lakes.  Everything's 
in  a  name,  by  Shakspeare's  leave.  I  have  a  friend  in 


ARCADIA. 


171 


New  York  who  prizes  a  very  worthless  faded  rag  of  tapes- 
try as  genuine  Gobelin  that  has  never  seen  the  famous 
loom.  She  also  has  a  quantity  of  china  judiciously 
labelled  that  I  verily  believe  she  values  as  far  ahead  of  the 
Cesnola  collection.  There  are  wonderful  latter-day  en- 
amels that  she  will  tell  you  are  genuine  Limousins,  bear- 
ing the  date  of  Francis  I.;  Palissy  plates  taken  from 
the  gazettes  only  yesterday !  and  marvels  in  sculptured 
faience,  certainly  no  older  than  your  own  American 
Haviland,  who  has  caused  American  industry  to  become 
a  proverb  at  Limoges.  Don't  you  see  they  called  the 
pond  a  lake, — that  made  all  the  difference." 

"And  in  your  friend's  case,  were  you  imposed  upon 
by  the  'judicious  labels  ?' ' 

"  Often,  of  course  ;  therein  lies  the  safety  of  the  frauds. 
But  papa  fathomed  the  secret  of  the  Palissy  plates.  In 
our  migratory  periods  he  has  picked  up  crumbs  of  in- 
formation on  every  topic  under  the  sun.  He  has  adopted 
Confucius's  recipe  for  happiness  and  wisdom." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  '  They  must  often  change  who  would  be  constant  in 
happiness  or  wisdom.' ' 

"Amy  !"  The  girls  had  advanced  beyond  the  period 
of  formality. 

Amy  looked  at  her  friend  inquiringly.  The  bright 
dark  eyes  were  reading  her  own  with  a  baffled  expression. 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  brings  that  shadow  on  your 
face  so  often.  It  looks  like  care,  anxious  care.  You 
are  too  young  to  have  known  sorrow." 

"You  know  I  do  not  inherit  Arcadia,  as  you  do." 
She  spoke  half  playfully  to  hide  the  tremor  of  her  lips. 

Julia  clasped  her  hands  above  her  black  braids  and  in- 
dulged in  a  girlish  yawn  of  half  ennui,  half  content.  "  I 
could  not  bear  trouble  !"  she  exclaimed,  giving  her  whole 


172 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


lithe  figure  a  defiant  shake  and  settling  back  comfortably 
against  the  broad  tree-trunk.  "It  would  prove  the  cold 
in  the  nose  that  would  blunt  my  every  perception  of 
Arcadia's  beauties;  I  should  die  under  trouble  !" 

Amy  shook  her  head  incredulously.  "  It  is  not  so  easy 
to  die,  nor  is  it  easy  to  live  patiently,  believe  me." 

"I  would  not  live,  patiently  or  impatiently.  I  am  a 
cosmopolite,  you  say, — a  butterfly,  perhaps  you  think, — 
but  when  the  sweets  are  all  drawn  from  the  flowers,  and 
the  warmth  dies  out  from  the  air,  the  blue  and  gold  from 
the  skies,  who  wants  to  live  ?  where  would  be  the  good 
in  life?  It  is  not  in  a  nature  like  mine  that  'despair 
sublimes  to  power.'  The  efforts  to  recover  its  lost  energy 
might  not  be  wanting,  but  the  strength  to  renew  it. 
There  are  such  organizations,  don't  you  think?  capable 
of  being  crushed  beyond  all  resistance  by  over-weight." 
She  was  vitally  in  earnest  now,  and  as  she  spoke,  with 
those  deep  stains  of  color  on  her  cheeks,  with  the 
curious  lamp-like  light  in  the  great  dark  eyes,  that  con- 
veyed to  the  most  disinterested  observer  their  importu- 
nate demands  for  all  that  life  can  give,  it  did  not  seem  at 
all  improbable  that  should  those  imperious  demands  be 
unanswered  the  frail  young  body  might  fail  in  strength  to 
sustain  the  passionate,  disappointed  soul.  "Eh  bienf" 
she  added,  with  a  little  lazy  laugh,  the  passion  and  the 
force  dying  out  of  her  voice,  "if  trouble  come,  apres? 
It  has  proved  fatal  to  more  than  one  of  my  race.  I 
think  I  may  safely  trust  to  the  taint  in  my  blood  for 
deliverance  at  the  right  moment !" 

"O  Julia!"  cried  Amy,  shocked  at  the  pagan  utter- 
ance, "  you  talk  as  though  death  were  oblivion,  but 
you  know  better;  you  know  that  death  is  an  escape 
from  trouble  only  as  we  find  ourselves  prepared  for  its 
coming." 


ARCADIA.  173 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  Amy.  I  only  think, 
with  Lorenzo,  that  it  is  better  to  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  and  get  the  very  richest  cream  of  life  from  its 
mantling  surface,  but  when  it  comes  to  death — I  do  not 
know  anything." 

"Do  you  know  how  he  died,  that  Lorenzo  whose  creed 
you  adopt?" 

"Something  about  it,  yes;  but  tell  me  what  you  re- 
member of  it, — I  have  a  poor  head  for  history." 

"You  remember  that  Savonarola  was  preaching  at  the 
Duomo,  and  that  while  the  Magnifico's  courtiers  all  went 
to  hear  him,  Lorenzo  held  himself  studiously  aloof  from 
all  his  services.  He  grew  ill  amid  the  olive  groves  of  his 
beautiful  Correggi,  where  were  all  the  luxuries  and  art 
objects  that  he  prized  most.  He  sent  for  the  prior  of 
San  Marco,  who,  hearing  that  the  Magnifico  was  dying, 
left  his  beloved  cloisters  and  walked  up  the  sunny  slope 
to  carry  consolation  to  him  who  had  sung,  '  Eat,  drink, 
and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we  die!'  There  was  guilt 
on  the  great  ruler's  soul,  from  which  he  sought  absolu- 
tion before  death  should  come  to  him.  He  had  sneered 
at  the  truths  thundered  from  the  Duomo  when  he  walked 
with  his  courtiers  under  the  olives  in  his  garden;  but 
when  death  came  to  him  it  was  not  to  his  courtiers  he 
turned,  but  to  the  despised  preacher  for  consolation  and 
relief." 

"And  was  he  absolved?"  asked  Julia,  and  her  voice 
was  very  grave.  It  looked  strange  and  out  of  pfece,  this 
dark  cold  episode  of  the  Middle  Ages  against  the  warmth 
and  brightness  of  the  hot  July  day. 

"  No  ;  it  was  not  in  a  moment  the  hardening  influences 
of  years  were  to  be  softened,  the  tyrannical  sway  of  a  life- 
time renounced.  He  went  to  the  grave,  mocking  and 
skeptical,  as  he  had  lived,  and  the  preacher  went  back  to 

15* 


174 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


his  cell  with  a  deeper  shadow  on  his  life,  already  heavily 
weighted  with  the  burdens  of  others." 

Julia  slid  off  her  elbow  and  leaned  her  hot  cheek 
against  the  long  cool  grass.  "  It  seems  a  comfort  to  you, 
Amy,  this  belief  that  death  opens  the  gates  to  an  inherit- 
ance of  rest  ?"  The  girl's  voice  was  lingering  and  wist- 
ful. 

"  It  does  indeed,  Julia.  I  can  think  of  no  other 
thought  so  comforting." 

Julia  shuddered.  "It  is  only  a  deep  black  grave  to 
me,"  she  said,  half  under  her  breath,  "with  nothing  at 
all  beyond  it." 

"O  Julia!  I  am  so  sorry,"  and  then  they  lapsed  into 
silence  for  a  while ;  Julia  thinking — who  shall  say  what  ? 
with  the  latent  wistfulness  softening  the  fire  of  the  splen- 
did dark  eyes,  and  Amy  striving  vainly  with  the  reticence 
of  her  nature  to  find  fit  words  with  which  to  express  the 
faith  that  was  the  very  foundation  of  her  life.  "  Julee" 
recovered  first. 

"  del!  what  a  memento  mori  turn  our  conversation  has 
taken.  Carlyle  would  have  called  you  a  death's  head, 
Amy,  which,  after  all,  he  preferred  to  a  fashionable  wit. 
What  a  dismal  detour  we  have  made  from  Arcadia,  my 
garden  of  soft  delights  and  honest  loves,  to  the  grave !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

LES  BIEN  SEANCES. 

"  Behind  no  prison  grate,  she  said, 

Which  slurs  the  sunshine  half  a  mile, 
Lie  captives  so  uncomforted 
As  souls  behind  a  smile." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

"  GOOD-BY,"  said  Julia,  "I  shall  not  expect  you  to 
write  to  me,  because  my  Meccas  by  the  wayside  are  too 
numerous  to  bear  cataloguing,  but  I  shall  not  forget  you, 
questa  gentilissima,  with  your  brave  sad  smile  ;  and  when 
I  come  home,  famous, — for  I  mean  to  distinguish  myself, 
I  assure  you,  before  I  am  many  years  older, — why,  you 
will  come  to  me,  will  you  not?" 

A  beautiful  October  morning,  and  the  "Maien-duft"  as 
Mr.  Cheswick  invariably  dubbed  her,  was  bidding  them 
adieu.  She  was  to  set  sail  with  her  father  for  Europe  in 
a  few  days,  and  the  color  was  riotous  on  her  cheeks,  the 
light  in  her  dark  eyes  imperious  and  unfailing. 

Amy  watched  the  carriage  bear  them  away  with  a 
warning  lump  in  her  throat.  How  dear  the  companion- 
ship of  the  bright  beautiful  creature  had  grown  !  The 
very  trees  rustled  mournfully  as  the  gates  closed  on  the 
carriage,  and  the  sward  by  the  croquet-ground  looked 
gloomy  and  deserted.  She  should  not  care  to  visit  the 
old  haunts  now  that  that  young  lithe  figure  and  gay 
ringing  laugh  would  be  missed  from  them.  Maien-duft 
indeed,  the  very  breath  of  May,  and  she  had  taken  it 
with  her  when  she  left. 

175 


I76  Iff  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

That  evening  her  uncle  handed  her  a  letter.  "Read 
it,"  he  said,  and  Amy  read,  scarce  comprehending,  an 
account  of  all  the  arrangements  that  had  been  made 
for  their  winter  residence  in  Baltimore.  It  was  the  first 
intimation  she  had  received  of  his  designs.  Another 
letter  from  Mrs.  Holborne — the  "cousin  Helen  Agnew" 
of  her  childish  recollections — gave  a  very  satisfactory 
description  of  the  menage  on  Monument  Square,  as  fitted 
out  and  scrupulously  directed  under  her  own  personal 
supervision. 

"  And  we  do  not  go  back  to  Cheswick,  uncle  ?  Does 
Aunt  Bab  know?" 

"Yes,"  her  uncle  nodded,  looking  a  little  restless 
and  uneasy. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Amy.  She  had  dreaded  the 
loneliness  of  Cheswick  during  the  winter  season,  but  now 
that  she  knew  they  were  not  to  return,  with  the  perversity 
of  human  nature,  she  was  seized  with  an  indescribable 
longing  to  go  back  there.  Then  the  old  fear  took  a  new 
shape :  what  if  any  chance  should  take  him  there  to  find 
the  old  house  closed !  Amanda,  Jacob  Martin's  wife, 
was  to  follow  them  to  the  city,  and  only  the  gardener 
and  his  withered  old  dame  were  to  be  left  to  look  after 
the  safety  of  the  old  place. 

Mr.  Cheswick  watched  her  as  she  walked  slowly  out  of 
the  room,  and  felt  greatly  relieved.  "  Girls  can't  know 
what  is  best  for  them,"  he  pondered.  "Helen  Agnew 
will  take  her  about  and  bring  company  to  the  house, 
and  in  time  she  will  forget, — all  women  do." 

But  he  did  not  believe  this  one  would.  Those  eyes,  true 
and  clear  as  the  heavens  that  stretched  above  his  head, 

did  not  belie  the  nature  of  the  girl :  she  would  not  forget ! 
******* 

The  new  home  looked  very  strange  and  unhome-like 


LES  BIEN  SEANCES.  177 

on  that  chill  October  evening  when  the  three  weary 
travellers  mounted  its  marble  steps  and  followed  Mrs. 
Holborne  into  the  vestibule.  It  was  raining,  and  the  clouds 
hung  gray  and  heavy  above  the  Monument.  It  was  chill 
and  lonely  and  silent,  not  a  soul  moving  on  the  broad 
pavements,  not  even  a  child's  face  peeping  out  from  one 
of  the  iron-guarded  windows.  Cheswick  itself,  lying  so 
near  the  mountains,  shut  in  by  fading  foliage  from  every 
glimpse  of  the  outside  world,  could  not  have  looked  more 
desolate.  "It  is  all  owing  to  the  evening,"  Amy  said  to 
her  sinking  heart  as  she  took  off  her  damp  wraps  and  made 
herself  tidy  by  the  time  the  bell  should  ring. 

At  table  Aunt  Bab  looked  uncomfortable  with  the 
solemn  strange  butler  moving  behind  her  chair,  and 
Jacob's  post  behind  his  master  seemed  destined  to  become 
that  of  a  sinecure.  Certainly  Mrs.  Holborne's  choice 
of  a  cook  displayed  the  most  admirable  discretion,  if  the 
well-served  meal  was  a  test,  but  poor  Miss  Bab  could 
scarcely  distinguish  one  entrite  from  another,  so  absorbed 
was  she  in  the  problem  of  what  duties  she  should  assign 
Amanda  when  she  came.  The  good  old  soul  felt  doubly 
bereft  in  this  new  home,  because  she  divined  that  her 
housekeeping  offices, which  were  considered  so  important  at 
Cheswick,  would  not  even  be  called  into  requisition  here. 

After  dinner  Miss  Bab  and  Amy  followed  Mrs.  Hol- 
borne on  a  tour  of  inspection  through  the  house.  They 
found  everything  comme  il  faut,  from  the  guest-chambers 
with  their  every  accessory  for  comfort  to  the  servants' 
rooms  in  the  third  story,  from  the  cabinet-shelves  in  the 
drawing-room  to  the  china-closet  in  the  store-room. 
Evidently  Mrs.  Holborne  was  a  woman  of  taste,  except 
that  in  the  drawing-room  there  was  a  too  profuse  orna- 
mentation in  crimson  and  gold,  a  too  lavish  breadth  of 
picture-frames  and  cornice,  and  the  paintings  were  not 


I  y8  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

just  the  subjects  that  appealed  to  the  eyes  througli  the  heart, 
but  there  was  no  fault  to  be  found  with  her  arrangements. 

"Did  uncle  order  all  these  beautiful  things?"  asked 
Amy. 

Mrs.  Holborne  smiled.  She  had  a  habit  of  smiling, — 
a  sort  of  flimsy  mask  that  only  the  most  superficial  failed 
to  pierce.  She  was  not  pleased  with  her  young  cousin's 
query.  An  old  man  from  the  country  to  know  what  was 
needed  in  a  recherche  city  salon  ! 

"  Oh,  no ;  he  gave  me  carte  blanche  to  furnish,  so  I  had 
Godey  do  everything." 

"A  fashionable  upholsterer,  Miss  Cheswick,"  answer- 
ing the  inquiry  in  Miss  Bab's  eyes;  "and  the  ornaments 
and  bric-a-brac  I  selected  myself  for  the  most  part." 

Amy  glanced  around  with  a  vague  sigh  of  uneasiness. 
Everything  was  so  garishly  bright,  the  cushions  so  new,  the 
marbles  so  stainless,  every  little  Sevres  vase  and  Dresden 
figure  looked  fresh  and  unworn,  as  though  just  from  the 
hand  of  the  designer.  Evidently  visitors  would  not  be 
tempted  by  the  formal  ensemble  of  this  Godey-furnished 
apartment  into  prolonging  unconventionally  a  morning 
call. 

Poor  Miss  Bab  inspected  everything  with  growing  dis- 
may. It  was  all  so  fine,  so  bright  and  "spick  and  span" 
that  she  was  reduced  to  the  most  sepulchral  of  monosyl- 
lables, as  was  Amy  to  the  dreariest  fit  of  homesickness 
she  had  ever  known.  The  climax  was  reached  when  the 
housekeeper  was  called  in,  a  very  erect  personage  in  a 
black  bombazine  that  rustled  as  though  with  a  sense  of 
the  dignity  and  importance  of  the  wearer's  position. 
Amy,  knowing  Miss  Bab  so  well  and  understanding  her 
expression  of  surprise  and  dismay,  felt  the  first  gleam  of 
mirth  that  she  had  experienced  since  those  heavy  doors 
of  her  new  home  had  closed  her  in. 


LES   BIEN  SEANCES.  I?9 

"I  had  expected  to  superintend  the  housekeeping!" 
exclaimed  the  poor  lady  when  they  were  again  alone  with 
their  guide ;  "  and  certainly  Robert  meant  that  I 
should." 

Mrs.  Holborne  lifted  her  eyebrows  superciliously.  She 
was  a  handsome  woman,  passe,  but  well  preserved,  and 
dressed  to  perfection  ;  she  had  the  repose  and  style  of  the 
world ;  she  was  rarely  betrayed  into  an  indiscreet  dis- 
play of  emotion  on  any  occasion.  She  spoke  very  quietly 
now, — 

"  My  dear  Miss  Cheswick,  you  will  find  Mrs.  Giles  in- 
valuable ;  she  knows  all  that  is  needed  in  an  establish- 
ment of  this  sort,  and  you  will  be  very  grateful  for  her 
assistance  before  the  season  is  over,  I  venture  to  predict." 

"The  season!"  Amy  heard  the  words  without  a 
single  pang  of  apprehension.  "  Miss  Harper  said  she 
was  a  society  woman, — a  leader,"  she  mused :  "that  is 
why  she  speaks  of  the  season  as  un  fait  accompli,  as 
'Julee'  would  say.  She  will  learn  that  one  season  is 
quite  as  much  as  another  to  us,  and  that  the  word  as  she 
defines  it  has  no  place  in  our  vocabulary." 

She  went  over  to  Miss  Bab's  room — across  the  hall  from 
her  own — that  night  before  retiring.  The  old  lady,  in  her 
night-wrapper  and  cap,  was  seated  by  the  register  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  her  Bible  with  a  very  miserable,  care- 
lined  face. 

"O  Amy,  ain't  it  dreadful?"  she  cried,  raising  both 
withered  hands  in  emphasis  thereof. 

"What,  auntie?"  and  the  girl  laughed  as  she  drew  a 
hassock  to  her  feet  and  leaned  her  arms  in  her  lap. 

"Why,  everything,  child! — the  house  all  glitter  and 
show  and  not  a  real  homely  place  in  it,  and  the  strange 
servants,  and  that  stuck-up-looking  housekeeper,  and — 
Mrs.  Holborne,  your  cousin  Helen,  with  her  everlasting 


!8o  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

smile,  that  has  no  more  heart  in  it  than  the  fine  furniture 
and  jimcracks  she  has  scattered  all  over  the  house.  A 
pretty  lot  of  bills  Robert  will  have  to  pay !  My !  what 
has  come  over  him?  as  penny-wise  as  he  has  been  all  .his 
life,  now  in  his  old  days  to  turn  pound-foolish  !  What 
does  it  mean,  I  wonder,  Amy, — all  these  servants  and  so 
much  stuff  that  we  don't  need?  I  wonder  if  she  has 
fooled  him?  She  doesn't  look  like  one  to  be  trusted." 

"O  auntie,  what  nonsense!  Haven't  you  often  told 
me  that  uncle  is  very  rich?  I  don't  suppose  this  house 
is  one  whit  finer  than  any  one  of  its  neighbors.  We  have 
grown  accustomed  to  the  old-fashioned  furniture  at  Ches- 
wick,  that  is  all." 

"  I  wish  we  were  back  1"  heaved  poor  Miss  Bab,  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  like  the  old  comfortable  belongings  there  better 
than  I  ever  shall  these  new  fine  things  that  look  too  fine 
to  be  used.  Why,  child,  the  great  velvet  chairs  in  the 
parlor  at  home  are  nearly  a  hundred  years  old,  and  strong 
to-day  as  ever  ! ' ' 

"  Never  mind,  auntie,  we  will  soon  make  it  home- 
like here,  though  I  too  love  Cheswick  best.  But  when 
Cousin  Helen  goes  we'll  reorganize,  and  perhaps  we 
shall  coax  uncle  to  let  us  give  up  Mrs.  Giles.  I  don't  see 
the  use  of  her  myself,  with  Amanda  coming. ' '  Thereafter 
a  pause,  in  which  Miss  Bab  read  her  Bible  with  a  percep- 
tible thinning  of  the  lines  on  her  forehead.  "Auntie, 
did  you  not  tell  me  that  years  ago  uncle  kept  up  consid- 
erable state  at  Cheswick  ?' ' 

"Yes,  in  his  early  wedded  life;  why  do  you  ask, 
child?" 

"I  wondered  why  he  had  ever  dropped  the  old  cus- 
toms, and  why  he  should  revive  them  now." 

Miss  Bab  closed  her  Bible  and  proceeded  to  do  up  the 
shining  short  ringlets  for  the  night.  "  I  shouldn't 


LES  BIEN  SEANCES.  181 

wonder  if  the  same  reason  would  answer  for  both  whims, 
child,"  she  said,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and  she  sat  gazing 
steadily  into  vacancy  for  a  brief  lapse  of  time,  her  eyes 
dim  with  the  memories  of  the  bygone  years,  but  she 
roused  herself  soon  and  gave  Amy  a  good-night  kiss. 

"Maybe  we  can  make  it  homelike,  honey,"  she  said, 
recurring  to  the  old  topic,  "but  old  people  grow  so  to 
places  ;  it's  like  tearing  my  heart-strings  to  take  me  away 
from  Cheswick." 

Dear,  patient,  unselfish  Aunt  Bab  !  when  had  she  ever 
said  so  much  about  any  preference  of  her  own  ?  Amy's 
heart  smote  her  as  she  went  over  to  the  big  lonely  room 
that  had  been  assigned  to  her  use,  and,  oddly  enough, 
her  memory  went  back  to  one  day  in  that  happy  summer, 
when  Cedric  was  marking  off  the  croquet-ground,  and 
with  Jacob  Martin's  assistance  had  succeeded  in  wrest- 
ing from  its  hold  upon  the  soil  a  huge  round  stone 
that  had  served  him  as  a  child  for  many  interesting 
exploits.  Clinging  to  its  mouldy  sides  were  lichens  and 
tendrils  of  plant-life  and  a  thousand  white  thread-like 
fibres  that  had  grown  and  matted  about  the  granite 
while  the  young  master  was  shooting  up  into  a  tall  lad. 
"What  a  shame,  Jacob!"  he  had  said  as  he  stood  with 
flushed  face  and  sparkling  eyes, — "like  the  young  god 
Baldur,"  she  had  said  in  her  silly,  romantic  young  heart, 
for  he  loved  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth, — "what  a 
shame,  Jacob,  to  have  broken  all  these  clinging  tendrils 
and  poor  dependent  lichen-roots  !" 

And  it  was  with  Aunt  Bab  as  it  was  with  the  old  gray 
mound  of  granite,  except  that  her  true  old  heart  was  warm 
and  human,  and  so  Amy  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  her 
metaphor  faulty. 

Next  day  Mr.  Cheswick  was  wheeled  in  his  arm-chair 
through  the  house  his  means  had  enabled  Godey  and 

16 


1 82  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

Mrs.  Holborne  to  display  their  vaunted  taste  upon.  He 
mumbled  a  little  about  women's  extravagance  and  asked 
Miss  Bab  if  Helen  Agnew  suspected  him  of  having 
amassed  and  hidden  treasure  at  Cheswick,  but  his  com- 
plaints were  not  formidable,  and  on  the  whole  he  seemed 
very  well  content. 

"Do  you  know  why  I  have  done  this?"  he  asked  of 
Amy,  who  came  to  his  side  in  the  drawing-room  with  a 
pretty  trifle  in  bisque  for  his  inspection. 

"Aunt  Bab  and  I  have  been  wondering,  uncle." 

"  I  have  told  Helen  Agnew  to  bring  company  to  the 
house  and  pilot  you  into  society,  and  I  want  you  to  make 
things  gay  and  pleasant  for  the  people  that  come  here, 
do  you  understand  ?  I  want  you  to  forget  everything  but 
my  wishes  in  the  matter."  This  last  he  added  defiantly, 
stung  thereto  by  the  wistful  appeal  in  the  gentle  eyes  turned 
toward  him,  eyes,  strange  to  say,  that  brought  to  mind  in 
these  days  those  others  that  had  looked  at  him  twenty- 
two  years  ago  with  a  look  that  he  would  never  forget. 

Poor  Amy  !  Could  "  Julee"  have  seen  her  in  the  days 
that  followed  she  would  have  marvelled  more  than  ever 
at  the  strange  white  calm  of  her  features,  that  bore  upon 
them  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  pain. 

Mr.  Cheswick  fixed  upon  the  apartment  back  of  the 
parlor  for  his  library,  and  it  was  there  Amy  exercised  her 
creative  powers,  seeking  to  impart  that  home-look  to  its 
aspect  which  was  so  painfully  lacking  in  the  rest  of  the 
house.  It  became  the  pleasantest  room  of  the  mansion  ; 
even  Mrs.  Holborne,  though  she  objected  to  the  warm 
tone  that  pervaded  the  place, — a  library  needed  the  pre- 
vailing color  to  be  a  soft  emerald  green,  restful  to  the 
eye  as  a  June  sward,  she  had  said, — even  Mrs.  Holborne, 
it  was  observed,  fell  a  victim  to  the  comfort  and  beauty 
of  the  room. 


LES   BIEN  SEANCES.  ^3 

A  good  many  books  had  been  brought  up  from  Ches- 
wick,  all  the  family  portraits,  and  a  favorite  landscape  of 
Amy's  that  had  hung  over  the  chimney-piece  in  the  long 
old-fashioned  parlor.  And  the  southern  window — an  am- 
ple bow — was  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  blooming  pots 
and  vines  that  she  had  brought  thither  after  repeated  trips 
with  Jacob  to  different  florists  in  the  city.  Crimson  cur- 
tains shed  warmth  on  the  dreariest  days,  and  at  one  or 
two  art  stores  on  Charles  Street  she  had  discovered  just 
what  she  wanted  in  the  way  of  gods  and  graces  for  her 
unsupplied  niches. 

Mr.  Cheswick  read  from  his  favorite  books,  took  slow 
drives  through  the  park,  attended  by  the  ever-careful 
Jacob,  and  entertained  a  small  coterie  of  old  gentlemen 
an  evening  or  two  out  of  every  week,  finding  infinite 
relish  for  the  political  and  personal  on  dits  they  brought 
him  from  the  world  at  large.  How  great  was  the  change 
in  him  !  He  who  had  scouted  the  bare  idea  of  human 
companionship  as  a  necessity  to  man  showed  a  singular, 
almost  childish,  aversion  nowadays  to  being  thrown  upon 
his  own  resources  for  the  shortest  period  of  time.  His 
habits  of  to-day  furnished  a  mocking  satire  upon  the 
cold  philosophies  of  his  life  :  and  he  knew  it,  sank  abashed 
under  the  consciousness  of  it  at  times,  the  while  he  strove 
to  excuse  his  weakness  upon  the  score  of  his  increasing 
infirmities  of  the  body. 

The  dreaded  day  had  been  tided  over  for  a  long  while, 
but  it  came  at  last.  Mrs.  Holborne,  with  that  chill 
insinuating  smile  that  Miss  Bab  found  so  rasping,  sug- 
gested that  as  so  many  had  called,  and  as  it  was  about 
time  to  make  some  sort  of  step  in  the  matter,  what  would 
Mr.  Cheswick  say  to  Amy's  accepting  some  of  the  in- 
vitations that  had  been  filling  her  receiver  for  the  past 
weeks  ? 


r84  Iff  SANCHO  PANZA'S   PIT. 

"  You  had  not  told  me,  Amy  ;  I  did  not  know  that  you 
had  received  a  single  invitation." 

Her  uncle's  mumbling  tones  conveyed  displeasure,  as 
well  as  the  lines  of  his  face.  Amy  was  silent. 

"  I  hope  you  wrote  regrets,  Amy  ?" 

"  To  most  of  them,  Cousin  Helen." 

"Ah,  well,  then  there's  no  harm  done."  The  cold 
smile  had  never  impressed  the  girl  so  disagreeably. 

"If  she  meant  something  kind  by  it,"  sighed  poor 
Amy;  "but  it  is  only  a  sort  of  picket  she  sends  out  to 
guard  the  position,  and  warns  me  to  be  on  the  alert.  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  grow  secretive  and  suspicious  if  I  have 
much  to  do  with  Cousin  Helen." 

Then  Mrs.  Holborne  suggested  what  would  be  a 
much  better  plan  after  all,  that  a  party  should  be  given 
by  Amy's  uncle,  which  would  serve  to  return  her  obliga- 
tions and  introduce  her  as  well.  "  Miss  Cheswick  is 
scarcely  au  fait  in  these  matters ;  so,  if  you  will  allow  me, 
I  will  gladly  save  her  all  trouble  of  that  sort,  and  take  the 
responsibility  entirely  upon  myself." 

"  I  am  sure  I  will  be  glad  to  have  her  do  it  !"  cried  old 
Miss  Bab  to  Amy  and  her  much-prized  Amanda,  who  had 
come  up  with  the  books  and  pictures  from  Cheswick.  "  It's 
just  the  work  to  suit  her,  and  she's  welcome  to  know 
more  about  it  than  I  do.  Good  gracious  !  what  would 
you  have  thought  of  me,  'Mandy,  if  at  fifty  I'd  have  gone 
about  with  a  Tower  of  Babel  on  my  head  and  my  scrawny 
arms  and  neck  bare  ?' ' 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Holborne  to  Amy  one  day,  "I 
hope  you  will  trust  me  with  the  selection  of  your  winter 
outfit, — we  are  fastidious  in  such  matters  here!"  And 
on  another  occasion,  "Your  uncle  tells  me  that  you 
play,  and  sing  too.  It  is  not  possible  that  you  have 
learned  to  sing  in  the  fashion  of  the  day  without  a 


LES   BIEN  SEANCES.  185 

signer  ?"  And  still  again,  "  My  dear,  can't  you  manage 
to  appear  a  little  less  indifferent,  or  more  interested  ? 
I  am  afraid  you  will  never  '  take'  in  our  set." 

But  the  whole  truth  came  out  one  day  when  Mrs. 
Holborne  suggested  a  little  manual  for  her  careful  peru- 
sal, entitled  "  Les  Bien  Seances"  "You  are  not  guilty 
of  more  culpable  gaucheries,  my  dear,  than  most  country- 
bred  girls ;  but  I  take  a  great  pride,  absurd  perhaps,  in 
knowing  everything  I  recommend  to  be  faultless  of  its 
kind, — I  bear  that  reputation  ;  now  you  wouldn't  like  to 
endanger  my  reputation  ?"  with  the  old  smile,  intended  to 
be  playful. 

I  think  she  did  not  read  aright  the  emotions  expressed 
by  the  rare  color  that  began  to  glow  in  Amy's  cheeks,  the 
fire  that  began  to  burn  very  steadily  in  the  surprised  brown 
eyes,  or  she  had  scarcely  gone  on  so  calmly. 

"  You  see,  we  society  people,"  pursued  the  soft  passion- 
less voice, — "soft  with  fashion,  not  with  feeling," — 
"  apparently  the  most  nonchalant  and  unconstrained  of 
any  class,  are  guided  by  fixed  rules,  which  govern  the 
tones  of  our  voices  and  I  might  almost  say  the  corre- 
sponding expression  of  our  features  as  arbitrarily  as  they 
do  the  style  of  our  clothes.  It  is  very  necessary  in  the 
world  to  feign  an  interest  that  you  do  not  feel,  and  that 
I  find  you  not  inclined  to  do,  my  little  cousin." 

But  she  was  interrupted  by  another  Amy  than  any  she 
had  ever  seen,  an  Amy  with  glowing  cheeks  and  eyes 
that  were  haughty  and  angry  alike.  "  Nonsense,  Cousin 
Helen!"  she  exclaimed,  "who  is  imposed  upon  by  the 
fraud  after  all?  Is  there  no  intuition  among  society 
people  that  they  should  not  detect  the  feigned  interest 
and  gauge  it  at  its  worth  ?  I  am  quite  new  to  your  ways 
and  your  world,  and  yet  I  am  able  to  judge  of  it  pretty 
surely  through  the  one  exponent  I  have  met  with." 

16* 


1 86  Iff  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

"  Bravo,  Amy  !"  "  Julee"  would  have  cried,  and  would 
have  accused  her  of  using  vera  pro  gratis  with  a  vengeance, 
but  Amy  proceeded  without  any  such  encouragement, 
her  Southern  blood  fairly  aroused  at  what  looked  like  a 
slur  at  its  innate  purity.  She  was  as  proud  a  little  aristo- 
crat, for  all  her  gentle  ways  and  calm,  unruffled  demeanor, 
as  was  the  lad  before  her,  who  went  out  into  the  world 
depending  upon  the  credentials  he  had  drawn  from  the 
old  chronicles  in  his  father's  library. 

"  Take  back  your  book  on  les  bien  stances  /  as  though 
a  lady  should  ever  need  to  use  it !  I  have  no  belief  in  the 
theory  that  one's  speech  and  manner  should  be  governed  by 
fixed  rules ;  as  well  say  that  we  are  capable  of  governing 
the  influences  at  work  with  our  lives.  Have  you  never 
read  that  action  hangs,  as  it  were,  dissolved  in  speech,  in 
thought,  whereof  speech  is  the  shadow  and  precipitates 
itself  therefrom  ?  How  do  I  know  what  thoughts  contact 
with  your  world  will  induce  in  my  brain,  and  you  would 
have  me  prepare  a  set  formula,  guided  by  your  bien 
seances  !  Bah  !  such  rules  and  regulations  may  serve  auto- 
mata, not  human  beings  who  have  a  part  of  their  own  to 
play!" 

"  What  a  strange,  unreasonable  creature  !"  mused  Mrs. 
Holborne,  as  her  carriage  bore  her  homeward,  "with  a 
temper  too,  as  I  live  !  Well,  if  I  don't  find  her  more  tract- 
able, I  fear  I  shall  rue  my  bargain." 

Does  it  strike  you  as  rather  improbable  that  Mrs.  Hol- 
borne, a  leader  in  society,  should  go  to  all  this  trouble 
merely  for  the  sake  of  a  nameless  debutante  ?  You  may 
read  her  motives  by  the  light  of  her  own  revelations. 
Surely  a  woman  who  maps  out  beforehand  every  smile  she 
means  to  shed  during  an  evening  is  not  unsupplied  with 
a  motive  for  such  an  ordeal  as  she  is  at  present  undergoing. 
A  trying  one  it  must  have  been,  if  we  judge  by  the  listless 


LES  BIEN  SEANCES.  187 

weariness  of  her  voice  when  she  reaches  her  own  home : 
"James,"  to  the  footman  who  carried  sundry  purchases 
from  the  carriage  to  her  boudoir,  "  if  Doctor  Duncan  calls 
this  morning  send  him  up,  but  no  one  else,  remember:  I 
am  fatigued  to  death." 

Some  hours  later  the  tapestry  that  guarded  this  luxu- 
rious lady's  portal  was  swept  aside,  and  a  very  hearty 
manly  voice  woke  the  rose-hued  stillness  of  the  boudoir. 
"  I  have  not  a  minute  to  stay,  Helen,  what  is  it?"  and  a 
tall  dark-eyed  man  followed  the  voice  to  the  foot  of  the 
couch  where  lay  "  Helen,"  resting  from  her  prodigious 
labor  of  the  morning. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Douglass,  except  that  I  depend  upon 
you  to  free  yourself  of  engagements  for  the  evening  of 
the  zyth." 

"Ah,  the  little  girl  from  the  country!  Poor  Helen! 
do  you  find  her  still  such  a  hopeless  task?" 

"  Don't  laugh,  Douglass  ;  my  only  hope  is  that  she  will 
'  take'  because  she  is  so  odd, — stupid  I  would  say  only 
that  her  speech  is  really  quaint  and  full  of  all  sorts  of  con- 
ceits ;  and  she  has  a  temper,  for  all  her  white  gentleness." 

"  Have  you  conflicted  already  ?" 

But  his  sister  did  not  notice  the  question.  "  Silly 
little  goose  !"  she  murmured,  half  to  herself  half  to  him. 
"  As  if  all  the  cavalier  blood  of  the  Old  Dominion  could 
stand  at  this  day  without  a  knowledge  of  "lesbien 
seances  /' ' 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 

"  Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geliebet." 

SCHILLER. 

"  IT  is  pleasant  to  wear  such  pretty  things  !" 

Amy  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  library,  blushing  naively, 
and  her  uncle  surveyed  her  with  unqualified  approval. 
Miss  Bab  walked  around  her  with  delight,  surveying  the 
graceful  filmy  skirts,  and  touching  the  pale  pink  leaves 
of  the  roses  that  garnished  the  costume,  to  make  sure 
they  were  not  real  blooming  ones.  It  was  no  desecration 
to  true  art  to  wear  artificial  roses  ten  years  ago. 

"They  look  as  though  they'd  smell,"  whispered  the 
enraptured  'Manda  to  her  faithful  consort,  Jacob  Martin, 
who  in  spotless  linen  and  broadcloth  looked  more  grave 
and  clerical  than  ever  on  this  important  evening. 

"Ain't  she  just  a  angel !  If  Mr.  Rick  could  ha"  seen 
her  so!" 

Then  the  two  old  servants  exchanged  glances  of  dis- 
may. It  was  an  unlucky  memory  to  recall  on  this  festive 
evening. 

Mrs.  Holborne  swept  into  the  library,  magnificent 
in  amber  satin  and  topazes.  "It  is  quite  time  we  were 
in  the  drawing-room,  my  dear.  Doesn't  she  look  beau- 
tiful, Mr.  Cheswick  ?  Her  neck  and  arms  are  perfect 
enough  to  have  inspired  Phidias.  Come,  Amy.  Now, 
my  dear,  do  try  to  be  interested." 
iSS 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  i8g 

"1  shall  not  have  to  try,  I  am  already  interested," 
laughed  the  girl.  "  It  is  all  very  odd  to  me,  but  I  don't 
mind  it  nearly  so  much  as  I  had  supposed  I  would ;  be- 
sides, I  expect  to  find  some  genuine  people,  despite  your 
opinion  to  the  contrary,  Cousin  Helen." 

"  I  never  passed  such  an  opinion,  my  dear.  You  do 
look  most  beautifully  !  Now,  </<?«'/ say  outre  things,  and  do 
please  remember  that  the  people  you  will  meet  to-night 
are  not  likely  to  appreciate  your  nice  little  moral  lec- 
tures. There,"  as  the  footman  flung  open  the  door 
to  a  slowly  filing  column  of  people,  "don't  move  !  your 
attitude  is  perfection."  And  Mrs.  Holborne  swept  her 
superb  train  across  the  carpet  and  met  their  guests  be- 
neath the  chandeliers. 

"  How  indifferent  she  seems,  and  her  eyes  look  tired," 
'said  a  young  girl  to  her  companion,  the  "Douglass"  of 
Mrs.  Holborne's  rose-hued  boudoir. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening,  and  Amy  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  had  nothing  more  to  learn  of  Mrs. 
Holborne's  set,  and  she  began  to  experience  a  sort  of 
tolerance  for  the  theory  of  bien  seances  as  specially  suited 
to  their  needs ;  for  were  they  not  all  of  the  same  type, 
— the  gentlemen  polite,  very  conventional  and  sedate, 
or  brimming  over  with  persiflage  and  fashionable  on 
dits ;  the  young  ladies  pretty,  graceful,  and  gentle;  the 
chaperones  affable  and  kind?  It  was  a  very  superficial 
view  she  took,  of  course,  and  not  altogether  reasonable ; 
but  she  was  so  tired  as  she  leaned  against  the  great  Stein- 
way,  and  let  her  strive  as  she  would  to  be  interested  the 
glare  of  the  lights,  the  buzz  of  voices,  the  gay  confusion 
of  colors  and  costumes  stood  out  with  a  panorama-like 
unreality  against  the  dark  void  in  her  memory,  where 
she  saw  always  but  one  figure  desolate  and  alone  in  a 
dreary  waste. 


190 


IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 


"She  has  everything  to  satisfy  her,  I  should  think," 
resumed  the  young  lady  whose  remark  we  have  inter- 
rupted so  flagrantly:  " youth,  beauty,  and  wealth, — a 
magic  trio." 

"Wealth?"  echoed  the  gentleman,  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  she  is  her  uncle's  heiress.  At  least  I  have  been 
told  so." 

Mrs.  Holborne,  standing  near,  exulted  inwardly.  It 
would  have  been  awkward  for  her  to  have  included  Amy's 
prospective  wealth  in  the  list  of  her  charms  when  she  went 
to  make  a  category  of  them  for  her  brother's  considera- 
tion, for  that  he  should  consider  them  she  was  deter- 
mined. What  could  be  finer  than  that  he  should  inherit 
old  Mr.  Cheswick's  large  fortune  !  The  position  required 
the  most  wary  walking.  The  plane  of  her  brother's  orbit 
did  not  run  parallel  with  hers,  it  was  much  higher,  * 
much  broader;  and  while  he  named  its  centre  ambition, 
she  must  be  forgiven  that  to  her  the  term  was  so  vague, 
comprehending  as  little  or  as  much  as  you  chose  to  make 
of  it.  If  ambition  was  the  desire  to  outvie  all  others  in 
worldly  display,  to  ride  the  very  topmost  crest  of  the  waves 
of  popular  opinion,  to  rule  like  a  demagogue  for  the  mere 
love  of  authority,  then  indeed  was  it  rightly  named. 

As  Amy  leaned  against  the  piano,  with  those  dark 
shadows  making  her  young  eyes  so  weary,  a  gentleman 
made  his  way  over  to  where  she  stood.  They  had  met 
earlier  in  the  evening,  but  she  could  not  remember  his 
name  among  so  many,  all  of  which  were  strange  to  her. 
He  was  tall  and  strong  looking,  with  a  face  that  bore 
its  own  voucher,  as  it  were,  stamped  in  the  honest,  kind 
dark  eyes,  upon  the  genial  lips,  shadowed  by  a  heavy 
dark  moustache. 

"Miss  Randolph,"  said  this  gentleman,  sharing  her 
abandon  against  the  soft  fur-lined  cover  of  the  piano,  "  I 


A    MYSTERY  SOLVED.  I9I 

have  been  watching  you  from  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  are  not  alto- 
gether satisfied  with  the  results  of  your  experiment  to- 
night." 

"  It  was  no  experiment  of  mine;  the  whole  proceed- 
ure  is  entirely  antagonistic  to  my  expressed  wishes." 
Then  she  blushed  deeply,  for  she  had  caught  a  glance  from 
her  cousin,  only  a  few  feet  in  front  of  her,  and  she  could 
not  have  read  a  more  unfavorable  comment  upon  her 
unlucky  remarks  than  was  expressed  in  that  cold  smile 
and  superciliously  lifted  eyebrow. 

"You  will  think  me  rude,  perhaps,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  right ;  but  you  will  be  more  tolerant  of  my 
error  when  I  tell  you  that  all  my  life  nearly  I  have  lived 
in  the  open  air,  and  am  accustomed  to  judging  only  a 
vuc  d'ceiL" 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  he  said,  noting  with  well- 
bred  deliberation  the  appealing  sweetness  of  her  glance, 
"but  indeed  you  will  find  our  world  well  worth  know- 
ing, only  to  reach  the  heart,  '  blood-tinctured,  of  a 
veined  humanity'  you've  got  to  cut  deep, — no  bird's  eye 
view  will  serve  you  here."  She  lifted  her  eyes  with  a 
bright  glance  of  comprehension  in  them  that  swept  away 
the  lurking  shadows.  They  were  en  rapport  at  once,  and 
she  was  ready  to  reverse  her  verdict  in  his  favor  on  the 
spot.  "  We  are  not  the  little  breed  that  Tennyson  paints 
us ;  we  do  something  more  than  prey  upon  each  other 
down  here  in  the  dark." 

"  I  thought  so  too  for  a  moment  this  evening,  when 
the  chandeliers  were  first  lit,  and  all  this  white  finery  was 
fresh  and  new,"  with  a  half-childish  glance  down  at  the 
training  skirts  of  her  party  attire;  "but  they  pall  upon 
one  so  soon,  the  light  and  the  flowers  and  the  gay 
people,  and  leave  one  so  tired.  You  are  wrong  and 


192 


IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 


Tennyson  is  right,  for  the  vital  principle  of  life  is  sus- 
tained by  death  after  all." 

This  was  queer  sort  of  talk  for  a  debutante  at  her  first 
party.  Doctor  Duncan  understood  his  sister's  anxieties 
now;  they  shone  in  a  new  light.  Poor  Helen  !  with  her 
worship  of  les  convenances,  her  daily  ceaseless  prostrations 
before  the  Juggernaut  of  conventionality,  what  a  martyr- 
dom she  must  have  suffered  in  training  this  belle  etoile 
for  her  first  appearance !  Doctor  Duncan  could  have 
laughed,  only  that  he  was  too  engrossed  in  pondering 
the  original  substance  of  that  shadow  which  had  flung 
such  a  veil  of  indifference  and  unrest  over  those  lovely 
youthful  features. 

"You  will  sing  for  me,  will  you  not?"  for  conversation 
between  them  seemed  at  ebb-tide :  "I  have  heard  from 
Helen  that  you  sing." 

"Helen?" 

"  Mrs.  Holborne  is  my  sister." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  Cousin  Helen  had  a  brother. 
How  was  it  that  I  did  not  meet  you  when  mamma  and  I 
visited  her  long  years  ago?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,  but  suspect  I  was  at  Heidelberg  then. 
Helen  is  my  half-sister  only  ;  perhaps  you  forget  that  my 
father  married  twice.  My  mother  was  a  German  lady, — 
Vosburgh  was  her  maiden  name.  I  have  an  uncle  living 
in  New  York,  though  at  present  I  believe  he  is  rambling 
over  Europe  with  his  only  child,  a  daughter." 

"  '  Julee?'  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  Isn't  she  lovely?  isn't 
she  charming?  '  Maien-duft?  uncle  calls  her.  She  is 
my  best  friend  in  the  world,  outside  of  Cheswick." 

"And  my  only  own  cousin  :  we  have  a  bond  in  com- 
mon." 

People  regarding  them  were  surprised  to  see  them  clasp 
hands  over  the  music-rack  that  intervened  between  them. 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


'93 


"How  can  'Dug'  be  so  ridiculous?"  muttered  Mrs. 
Holborne,  moved  from  her  lofty  composure.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible I  shall  have  her  turning  out  a  flirt?  It  is  the  usual 
metamorphosis  of  these  sanctified  young  nuns." 

"What  about  the  song?"  They  had  spent  a  de- 
lightful half-hour  talking  over  "Julee,"  and  the  party 
was  breaking  up.  Amy  had  shaken  hands  with  a  great 
many  people,  and  gotten  creditably  through  the  shower 
of  congratulations  and  compliments  she  was  forced  to 
encounter  on  the  subject  of  her  debut.  And  now,  when 
only  a  few  were  left  in  the  drawing-room,  Doctor  Duncan 
turned  to  her  with  that  persistent  smile  and  asked,  "  What 
about  the  song?" 

Amy  shook  her  head  merrily.  "If  you  are  critical,  I 
warn  you, — I  am  self-taught." 

But  he  would  take  no  denial.  "  I  am  an  earnest 
lover  of  the  art,  but  have  only  dedicated  to  it  my  one 
sense  of  hearing,"  he  said  ;  "  so  you  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  my  criticisms." 

Why  of  all  songs  would  she  have  chosen  Thekla's 
song  to-night  ?  She  could  not  have  told  you  herself,  but 
suddenly,  as  a  gap  in  the  shifting  panorama  reveals  the 
blank  wall  beyond,  so  once  more  was  the  scene  with  its 
brilliant  colors  thrust  aside  to  make  way  for  that  other 
vision, — a  desolate  stretch  of  desert-land,  with  a  lonely 
figure  wending  its  way  thereon.  "  Der  Eichwaldbranset, 
die  Wolken  ziehn."  And  as  she  sang  she  was  alone  with 
the  dark  night  closing  around  her,  the  oak  forest  roaring, 
the  waves  beating  "with  might  with  might!"  And  in 
the  dark  night  she  was  weeping;  her  heart  was  dead, 
the  world  held  nothing  more  for  her, — 

"  Thou  Holy  One,  call  thy  child  home : 
I  have  lived  and  have  loved  !" 

17 


194 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


"Jacob,  close  that  door,"  mumbled  Jacob's  master, 
looking  spent  and  weary  beneath  the  white  light  of  the 
chandeliers  ;  "lower  those  lights,  and  help  me  to  bed." 

Why  had  she  chosen  that  song  to-night?  It  was  the 
death's  head  at  the  feast,  a  hideous  grinning  skull  of 
bones  where  all  else  was  so  festal  and  so  gay  ! 

"Ah,"  thought  Doctor  Duncan,  standing  quiet  and 
observant  by  her  side,  "I  have  fathomed  the  secret  of 
those  weary  young  eyes,  I  have  caught  the  shadow  that 

veils  their  laughter  :  Ich  habe  gelebtund  geliebet" 
******* 

"  O  Mr.  Rick,  my  lad,"  sighed  Jacob  Martin,  as  in  the 
ante-chamber  of  his  master's  room  he  hung  his  best  suit 
in  its  cupboard  and  made  ready  for  bed,  "who'd  ever 
ha'  thought  o'  this  in  them  days  when  I  lamed  ye  to 
ride  and  to  row  and  to  swim  !  The  old  master's  heart  is 
longin'  for  ye,  and  Miss  Bab's  a  achin',  and  Miss  Amy's 
a  breakin',  to  say  nothin'  o'  old  Jacob  Martin's,  my 
boy!"  And  the  sturdy  old  servitor  blew  his  nose,  and 
the  candle  went  out  with  the  same  puff. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

FATALITY. 

"  Leave  it  nameless,  the  grave  of  the  grief  that  is  past, 
Be  its  sole  sign  the  silence  we  keep  for  its  sake. 
I  have  loved  you, — lie  still  in  my  heart  till  it  break, — 
As  I  loved  I  must  love  to  the  last." 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 

BALTIMORE  was  very  gay  that  winter,  at  least  Mrs.  Hol- 
borne's  set  was.  The  dear  old  Southern  city  wore  its 
most  engaging  aspect,  and  Amy,  though  not  altogether 
after  her  uncle's  and  Mrs.  Holborne's  prescriptions,  was 
finding  new  strength  and  new  developments  for  her 
character  under  these  new  influences.  She  had  gained  her 
point  though,  after  her  own  mild,  eminently  reasonable 
manner,  and  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  her  influence  over 
her  uncle  was  growing  unlimited.  Even  Rabys  Holme  in 
his  widest  demands  never  gained  his  judgment,  the  while 
he  gained  his  ear,  as  did  she.  Dear  old  Miss  Bab's 
mind  was  restored  to  its  usual  healthy  tone  of  content 
upon  the  dismissal  of  Mrs.  Giles  the  formidable,  and 
'Manda's  installation  in  her  old  position  as  chief  cook  and 
factotum  in  general,  and  Amy  was  conceded  the  use 
of  her  own  judgment  in  the  matter  of  party-going. 
"  Uncle,"  she  had  said,  with  her  usual  candor,  when 
the  subject  was  under  discussion,  "if  I  were  an  acces- 
sion to  society,  it  might  make  a  difference ;  instead, 
there  are  very  few  who  would  notice  my  absence,  and 
they  can  find  me  here.  If  you  will  allow  me  voice  in  the 

I9S 


I96  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

matter,  I  will  promise  not  to  eschew  gayety,  only  partake 
of  it  in  moderation." 

But  Mrs.  Holborne's  sway  was  over.  In  the  rose-hued 
boudoir  that  lady  lay  among  the  cushions,  and  fumed 
over  the  days  and  hours  wasted  in  trying  "  to  reduce  that 
little  barbarian  to  reason." 

"  She  is  far  from  being  stupid,  I  do  assure  you,  Dug, 
but  her  betises !  when  she  could  be  a  belle  with  all  her 
grace  and  money." 

"Dug"  said  nothing,  stretched  in  one  of  his  sister's 
sleep-inducing  fauteuils,  his  eyes  half  closed,  his  strong 
right  hand  hanging  limply  over  the  arm. 

"I  do  believe  he  is  asleep,"  came  in  hurt,  plaintive 
tones  from  the  couch. 

Yes,  "  Dug"  was  asleep, — the  great  strong  brave  fellow, 
— in  a  very  hasheesh  dream,  from  which  no  friendly  warn- 
ing voice  called  him  to  awaken  ;  and  his  dreams  were  filled 
with  shifting  forms  that  wore  ever  the  same  slight  shape, 
and  always  the  same  "  primrose  face  and  a  faint  pink 
smile  so  sweet  and  cold."  Had  he  forgotten  the  secret  he 
fathomed  behind  those  lovely  eyes  that  gave  them  their 
dark  grave  weariness?  had  he  forgotten  that  he  caught  the 
shadow  and  fixed  it  for  one  tangible  instant  of  time  that 
night  when  she  sung  "  Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geliebet?" 
If  he  has  not  forgotten  he  heeds  not  the  memory,  and 
when  the  lamps  were  lighted  along  the  thoroughfares  and 
Helen  had  gone  out  to  her  carriage  in  the  shimmer  of 
pearls  and  costly  robe  to  offer  incense  upon  the  altars  of 
her  own  particular  deities  in  the  joss-house  of  civilized 
paganism,  he  took  his  hat  and  threaded  his  way  along 
the  crowded  streets  until  he  reached  the  stately  silence 
of  the  square  about  the  Monument,  and  then  it  took  his 
feet  short  while  to  "  find  the  door  where  his  heart  had 
gone  before." 


FATALITY. 


197 


She  was  in  the  drawing-room ;  had  only  just  come  in 
from  a  drive,  but  something  had  happened  to  disturb  the 
serenity  of  her  features,  and  there  was  the  glint  of  tears 
on  the  golden-brown  lashes.  "  You  look  troubled : 
may  I  ask  what  has  happened?"  he  said  as  she  rose  to 
greet  him.  She  had  seen  so  much  of  him  during  the 
winter,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  and  his  coming  was 
never  obtrusive  nor  unwelcome.  He  had  become  a 
delightful  and  congenial  companion,  second  only  to 
"Julee." 

"Uncle  gave  me  a  happy  surprise,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
was  so  foolish  as  to  cry,"  with  a  deprecating  half-smile 
that  was  very  pretty  and  childish.  "It  was  a  portrait — 
of  one — very  dear  to  us  both,"  she  added,  seeing  that  he 
still  looked  wondering,  if  not  a  little  curious. 

Even  big,  strong  fellows  like  "Dug,"  you  know,  are 
not  proof  against  that  petty  passion.  "  Your  mother's  ?" 
he  asked,  inquiringly.  Then,  as  she  did  not  answer,  he 
changed  the  subject  deftly,  and  with  that  wise  tact  that  in- 
dicated so  truly  a  sensitive,  generous  temperament.  "  You 
have  been  driving,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  dwelt  upon 
her  with  unmistakable  pleasure.  She  was  very  dainty 
and  fair  to  look  upon  in  that  wonderful  muffling  of  blue 
velvet  and  silver  fox-fur,  with  the  vaporish  plume  of 
her  hat  heightening  by  contrast  the  gloss  of  her  hair. 
"Are  you  tired? — would  it  be  asking  too  much? — but 

there  is  a  superb  Lorraine  at  F 's  gallery.     I  have 

heard  you  express  your  enjoyment  of  his  subjects.  This 
is  private  property  and  only  on  exhibition  for  a  few  days. 
Would  you  care  to  walk  down — only  a  few  squares — 
and  see  it  with  me?" 

"What  a  little  thing  it  takes  to  tire  me,  you  must 
think !  I  am  not  in  the  least  tired  and  shall  like  to  go." 

"Indeed   I  wonder    that    you   do   not   oftener   grow 
17* 


198  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

weary  in  your  endless  sacrifices  to  Mrs.  Grundy,  you 
young  women  of  the  world,  though  I  have  not  been  blind 
to  your  constantly  waning  allegiance." 

"  Oh,  it  is  only  that  I  am  allowed  a  choice  in  the  mat- 
ter. I  succeeded  in  persuading  my  uncle  that  I  might  be 
trusted  to  judge  of  my  own  peculiar  needs  even  better 
than  he  and  your  sister." 

They  were  out  on  the  pavement  now,  and  as  they 
moved  along  arm  in  arm  more  than  one  passer-by  re- 
marked the  singular  delicate  loveliness  of  the  face  so 
near  his  shoulder. 

"The  world  is  very  pleasant,  very  witty  and  gay  for 
a  few  times  that  you  meet  it,  but  it  grows  monotonous, 
don't  you  think?"  questioned  this  belle  etoil'e,  lifting  her 
soft  eyes  to  his,  and  not  noticing  how  his  in  turn  dwelt 
upon  her  face  with  the  lingering  appreciation  of  an  artist 
when  some  entirely  perfect  conception  is  brought  within 
the  range  of  his  vision.  It  might  have  been  that  but 
the  tastes  of  the  virtuoso  were  aroused,  for  Doctor  Dun- 
can had  a  reputation  in  that  line,  but  it  is  not  usual 
that  in  the  eyes  of  a  connoisseur  alone  you  remark  such 
a  concentration  of  expression  as  one  might  have  read 
in  his  at  that  moment,  as  though  the  will  dominant 
behind  that  grave  clear  glance  had  been  incited  to 
a  sudden  very  firm  resolve.  "I  have  grown  accustomed 
to  the  endless  variety  of  nature,  the  delicious  kaliedo- 
scopic  views  in  books;  that  is  why  to  me,  perhaps 
society,  with  its  same  smile,  its  same  greeting,  its  endless 
repetitions  of  fafon  de parler,  as  '  Julee'  would  say,  seems 
monotonous." 

He  shook  his  head  in  dissent.  "  There  is  selfishness  at 
the  bottom  of  your  creed,  I  suspect.  You  do  not  cut 
deep  enough.  It  is  too  much  trouble  to  do  so,  and  cut 
bono?  you  say.  Well,  you  must  be  the  judge  of  that, 


FATALITY. 


199 


but  it  is  scarcely  fair  to  avenge  your  indifference  upon  the 
world." 

"  I  do  not,"  and  she  clasped  one  hand  upon  the  other 
on  his  arm ;  "  but  how  can  you  understand,  you  who 
see  only  the  outside  ?  I  do  not  find  fault  with  the  world, 
though  I  have  seen  enough  to  condemn  even  in  this  short 
time ;  but  I  do  find  fault  with  the  advice  that  bids  me 
anchor  to  the  world  as  a  harbor  from  memory.  I  don't 
want  to  forget.  I  would  not  pass  through  life  without  a 
thought  of  what  lies  in  the  future ;  it  is  not  in  my  nature 
to  seek  refuge  from  trouble  in  anything  so  poor  and  un- 
satisfying as  worldly  pleasure." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "Your  favorite  Schiller 
says  '  man  grieves  down  everything,  from  the  highest  to 
the  lowest.'  " 

"Schiller  makes  mistakes.  He  also  says  'secrecy  is 
for  the  happy  and  misery  needs  no  veil.'  Tell  me,  you 
who  have  thought  and  read  so  much,  how  would  misery 
fare  in  this  world  without  a  veil  ?  How  has  it  always 
fared?  Has  it  not  been  stung  by  the  gad-flies  of  criticism, 
blinded  by  the  rushlights  of  derision,  if  not  hustled 
altogether  from  the  thoroughfares?" 

He  involuntarily  laid  his  own  on  the  folded  hands  upon 
his  arm,  folded  too  tightly  for  mere  pastime,  though  he 
chose  to  ignore  that.  "Why,  little  girl,  with  your  soft 
eyes  and  childish  laughter,  you  display  the  indignation 
of  a  neophyte  when  the  poor  old  world  comes  in  ques- 
tion. How  is  that  ?  And  you  make  the  world  a  Nero, 
the  jolly,  pleasant-smiling  old  world,  who  only,  when  we 
spoil  it  with  flattery  and  make  it  drunk  with  power, 
chains  its  captives  to  its  chariot-wheels  and  burns  its  sub- 
jects to  light  the  paths  of  its  conquests.  What  spite  have 
you  against  the  world  ?' ' 

"It  is  not  for  myself,"  she  said,  in  a  sadly  subdued  and 


200  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

altered  tone,  for  her  mental  vision  was  following  the  way 
of  that  wanderer  who  was  ever  in  her  memory,  and  it  was 
for  him  who  in  misery,  hopeless  misery,  was  stumbling 
somewhere  that  the  fiery  indignation  had  filled  her  heart 
and  found  vent  in  her  voice, — anger  at  a  world,  no  mat- 
ter how  small,  no  matter  how  narrow,  that  had  used  him 
so  badly. 

And  while  he  looked  at  her  sweet  face  and  thought  of 
her,  she  thought  of  some  one  else.  Ah,  it  was  true  what 
she  had  said  to  him  on  that  first  evening,  when  they  two, 
strangers  then,  had  leaned  on  the  piano,  and  talked  of  the 
world  and  its  little  breed.  "  The  vital  principle  of  life  is 
death,"  she  had  said.  Some  might  have  called  it  fatality, 
but  not  he,  even  had  his  eyes  been  open  to  the  pitfalls  in 
the  path  he  was  so  heedlessly  pursuing,  because  to  him 
the  power  that  many  men  have  called  Fate  was  God. 

"It  may  be,"  she  said,  when  they  had  looked  at  the 
Lorraine,  fairly  discussed  its  merits,  and  were  on  their  way 
homeward,  "  it  may  be  that  I  invest  even  society  with 
the  shadow  of  my  mood ;  but  I  do  not  regret  that  I  was 
forced  into  it,  for  I  have  met  you,  and  you  are  so  kind. 
I  should  not  like  to  think  what  would  have  become  of  me 
this  winter  but  for  you.  Oh,  how  kind  you  have  been," 
as  the  recollections  rushed  back  upon  her  of  the  pleasant 
surprises  he  had  planned  for  her,  and  the  long  evenings 
his  cheerful  converse  had  lightened  that  would  otherwise 
have  been  so  gloomy. 

"It  is  you  who  are  kind," — his  eyes  were  luminous 
with  a  glad  light, — "  I  am  only  one  of  the  many.  If  you 
would  not  sit  behind  such  triple  bars  of  coldness  and 
reserve,  you  would  soon  discover  that  I  serve  to  illustrate 
the  rule  instead  of  the  exception." 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  call  me  ?"  she  asked,  look- 
ing up  with  a  laugh  into  his  face.  "  I  heard  something 


FATALITY.  2OI 

that  you  did  not  to-night.  While  we  were  so  busy  discuss- 
ing the  Lorraine,  another  couple  were  discussing  us, — a 
lady  and  gentleman.  The  gentleman  said,  '  Duncan  is  in 
luck,  he  has  succeeded  in  thawing  the  glacier.'  "  She 
laughed  again,  but  there  was  not  a  single  note  of  bitter- 
ness in  the  clear  musical  chime. 

"You  are  invulnerable  on  that  point,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  with  some  astonishment  in  his  glance. 

"Julee"  would  have  laughed  with  delight  and  have 
called  her  ingenu,  and  have  understood  it  at  once  with 
those  brilliant  clairvoyant  eyes  of  hers;  but  Doctor  Dun- 
can felt  a  vague  sense  of  uneasiness,  for,  as  I  have  told 
you,  he  was  eating  hasheesh,  and  he  accepted  each  phase  of 
his  dream  as  a  reality.  He  had  rather  she  had  laughed 
less  clearly. 

"In  every  remark  of  that  sort  I  read  an  acquittal  on 
society's  part  from  all  fancied  obligations  on  mine. 
They  act  as  a  salve  to  my  conscience." 

"A  sore  conscience  that  needs  a  salve,  I  should  say 
from  my  stand-point." 

"The  physician's  stand-point.  Ah,  well,  I  am  willing 
to  admit  that  my  simile  is  faulty,  since  it  is  my  heart  not 
my  conscience  that  is  sore." 

In  her  eyes  came  the  same  definable  expression  of  pain 
as  when,  on  that  first  evening,  she  sung  Thekla's  song. 
But  he  refused  to  read  it  aright.  He  would  dream  a  little 
longer,  aye,  even  go  to  the  length  of  dreaming  that  the 
lovely  face  so  near  his  shoulder  was  to  shine  on  him,  his 
very  own,  through  life  as  it  shone  to-night,  with  that 
sweet  friendly  smile,  in  the  moonlight. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  WORLD  WELL  USED. 

"  There  is  a  joy  in  grief  when  peace  dwells  with  the  sorrowful." 

OSSIAN. 

"  '  HE  knew  the  world,  and  used  it  as  a  vehicle  for  the 
riches  of  his  soul,'  said  Goethe  of  your  favorite  artist." 

"  But  that  is  not  possible  for  all." 

"  It  is  possible,"  said  Doctor  Duncan,  in  his  quiet,  con- 
centrated tones."  "Lorraine  used  the  world  in  a  good 
sense,  but  no  better  than  may  you  or  I ;  for  to  each  and 
every  one  there  is  provided  a  route  consonant  with  the 
talents  he  possesses,  the  advantages  he  enjoys.  What 
matter  if  we  paint  our  quiet  genre  pictures  only  to  hang 
them  safely  in  the  loving  memories  of  a  few  !  what  mat- 
ter if  we  write  no  poems  so  that  we  live  them  to  the 
eternal  help  of  others  ! 

Amy  quailed  before  the  steadfast  light  of  those  brave 
eyes.  Her  life  seemed  suddenly  to  have  invested  itself 
with  the  narrowest  proportions. 

"  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  to  the  least  of  these, 
ye  have  done  it  also  to  me.'  Ah,  child,  have  you  tried 
the  balm  for  a  wounded  spirit  that  lies  in  work  done  for 
others?" 

It  was  said  very  gently,  very  tenderly,  as  they  walked 
home  in  the  moonlight  on  that  evening  long  weeks  ago, 
but  Amy  thought  as  she  reckoned  her  obligations  to  this 
kind  friend,  who  was  coming  to  say  good-by  to-night, 
that  for  no  solace  of  friendly  word  or  deed  had  she  owed 
202 


THE    WORLD    WELL    USED. 


203 


him  so  much  as  for  that  suggestion  which  had  opened  into 
her  such  widening  possibilities  for  usefulness,  with  which 
came  a  constantly  increasing  content. 

Here  in  the  purlieus  of  this  fair  old  city  she  had  found 
work  waiting  for  her  hand, — many  to  whom  the  gifts  of 
genius,  burning  in  lofty  words,  pulsating  through  divine 
harmonies,  or  glowing  with  the  conceptions  from  artist- 
brains,  would  have  been  but  stones  when  they  were  hunger- 
ing for  bread.  It  was  true,  as  he  had  said,  there  was  a 
route  for  every  one  who  chose  to  make  the  world  a 
vehicle,  a  route  consonant  with  each  one's  abilities. 
Lorraine  had  piled  it  high  with  the  riches  of  his  soul,  and 
the  bland,  smiling,  dilletante  beneficiaries  had  each  moved 
on  with  some  warmer  glow  of  feeling  at  his  heart,  per- 
haps, some  purer  inner  thought  that  the  artist-touch 
had  awakened  for  the  moment.  But  Amy  loaded  hers 
with  blankets  and  warm  shawls  and  tons  of  coal  and 
baskets  of  provisions,  and  old  women,  withered  and  cold, 
blessed  her  with  their  shaking  lips,  and  hungry  children 
whooped  with  half-savage  delight  when  the  beautiful  lady 
in  blue  and  silver  cut  them  generous  slices  of  bread  and 
butter,  or  gave  them  warm  stockings  and  strong  shoes  to 
cover  their  naked,  chilblained  feet.  Among  "  Doctor 
Duncan's  poor"  she  found  the  long  wished-for  antidote 
to  weariness  and  unrest.  There  was  work  for  a  dozen, 
and  Aunt  Bab  was  in  her  element,  for  you  may  remember 
that  Cheswick's  sole  lack,  to  her  mind,  had  been  an  ab- 
solute want  of  beggars,  and  Mr.  Cheswick,  as  ever,  was 
always  ready  for  any  demand  upon  his  purse. 

"How  nobly  you  have  acted  upon  my  suggestion," 
said  Doctor  Duncan  to  her  one  day,  "and  at  the  time 
I  doubted  very  seriously  the  propriety  of  having  made 
it." 

"It  has  been  a  blessing  to  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  can- 


204  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

not  thank  you  enough  for  opening  my  eyes  to  my  duty. 
In  every  way  it  has  helped  me,  even  more  than  those  poor 
people  to  whom  you  sent  me.  After  a  morning  spent  in 
that  microcosm  of  sick  and  maimed  and  hungry  that 
make  up  your  'poor,'  I  come  back  to  my  uncle's  quite 
prepared  to  enjoy  the  beauty  and  luxury  of  my  home. 
My  great  trouble  is  that  I  can  do  so  little  ;  with  all  uncle's 
generosity  I  cannot  provide  for  all.  If  I  were  a  Lady 
Burdett-Coutts  now !" 

But  he  interrupted  her,  looking  down  upon  her  face 
with  that  lingering  gaze  that  always  seemed  to  gather  up 
its  charms  one  by  one.  "The  spirit  makes  the  deed  ac- 
ceptable," he  said.  "A  cup  of  cold  water  is  the  same  in 
His  sight  as  the  lavished  wealth  of  a  Rothschild.  '  She 
hath  done  what  she  could.'  I  think  if  at  the  last  we  find 
that  written  down  beside  our  names  we  need  not  fear  to 
meet  the  assembled  hosts." 

What  a  pure  noble  Christian  he  was,  this  man,  who 
lived  in  the  world  and  loved  it  so  justly  and  yet  kept  him- 
self unspotted  from  it !  And  Amy,  in  living  for  others, 
was  doing  more  for  herself  than  she  was  aware.  Ah, 
there  is  a  grand  law  of  compensation  working  in  the 
whole  scheme  of  existence. 

Have  you  not  proved  it  ?  Say  you  are  weary,  discour- 
aged, almost  hopeless,  the  conditions  of  your  life  so  gall- 
ing, the  monotonous  round  of  your  duties  so  untiring, 
until  you  wonder  with  a  sickening  sense  of  helplessness 
where  you  shall  gain  patience  and  strength  to  endure 
the  thraldom  of  the  weary  hours.  Oh,  have  you  not 
felt  it,  that  impotence  in  the  hands  of  Time,  that  blind 
incredulous  doubt  of  the  justice  that  reigns  forever  above 
these  dim  lives  of  ours  ? 

"Mamma  !"  cries  a  quivering  baby  voice,  while  baby 
arms  clasp  your  neck  and  tears  drench  the  piteous  baby 


THE    WORLD    WELL    USED. 


205 


face,  all  marred  with  some  childish  grief  or  pain.  And 
though  your  heart  aches,  you  make  room  for  the  restless 
little  head  above  it,  you  hush  the  clamorous  voices  of  your 
own  pain  to  wipe  the  tears  from  the  cheek  against  yours, 
and  in  so  doing,  all  unconsciously  but  surely,  the  com- 
pensative force  that  lurks  in  your  own  consoling  powers 
has  acted  in  the  rebound,  as  it  must  always,  upon  your- 
self. This  is  only  one  instance,  the  instance  that  arises 
most  naturally  to  a  mother's  mind,  who  has  known  her 
own  pain  and  unrest  and  bitter  struggles  with  life's  weary 
days  eased  and  soothed  and  lightened  by  the  touch  of 
baby  fingers. 

But  to  us  all  compensation  comes  in  God's  good  time, 
whether  it  meets  us  in  this  life  or  we  go  to  it  in  the  next. 

And 

"  Who  need  grow  gloomy 
Being  free  to  work?" 

Have  you  lost  some  Eden  of  delight?  Then  do  not  stand 
looking  back  upon  the  flaming  sword  that  guards  its  en- 
trance, but  get  work,  as  did  our  first  father.  Do  you  miss 
its  rippling  waters,  its  cool  green  shadows?  Drown  the 
memory  of  them  in  some  legitimate  labor.  It  will  curb 
your  restlessness,  it  will  deaden  your  regret,  it  will  make 
you  almost  content  in  time. 

It  is  not  fame  that  is  satisfying,  as  hear  Pope  in  tes- 
timony thereof,  writing  to  Martha  Blount :  "  Life,  after 
the  first  heats  are  over,  is  all  down  hill,  and  one  could 
almost  wish  the  bottom  were  reached,  were  we  sure  that 
night  would  not  overtake  us  at  last."  Nor  is  it  pleasure 
that  gives  rest,  for  Young  at  eighty-four  wrote,  "  I  am  an 
old,  miserable,  forsaken  man,"  and  for  him  the  pleasure 
of  the  body  had,  in  almost  every  instance  of  his  life,  out- 
weighed the  impulses  of  his  soul.  But  he  who  on  that 
memorable  December  Saturday  said  to  the  assembled 

18 


206  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

household  around  his  bed,  "It  is  well,"  of  whom 
Von  Berckel  wrote  ten  years  before, — 

"  In  vain  the  Sisters  ply  their  busy  care 
To  reel  off  years  from  Glory's  deathless  heir ; 
Frail  things  shall  pass,  his  fame  shall  never  die, 
Rescued  from  Fate  by  Immortality," — 

he,  our  great  first  President,  found  his  dearest  solace, 
his  richest  meed  in  the  work  that  he  did  so  tirelessly  and 
so  well. 

What  excuse  shall  we  plead  for  loading  the  narrative 
with  digressional  views  of  our  own  ?  We  will  give  you 
Montaigne  for  a  precedent,  with  whose  plea  for  red  versus 
white  wines  you  are  doubtless  familiar. 

The  winter  days  were  over,  and  March  had  come  to  the 
city,  deceitful  as  the  traditional  lamb  that  anon  heralds 
his  entry.  The  snow-drops  were  doubtless  born  in  the 
Cheswick  borders,  the  tulip-beds,  the  hyacinth-stalks, 
the  delicate  blue  Neapolitan  violets  were  making  ready  to 
start  into  life  in  the  smooth  green  glades  of  the  pleasance  ; 
but  here  in  the  quiet  gray  square  only  soft  airs  heralded  the 
coming  spring,  and  the  sky  above  the  Monument  looked 
thin  and  blue  and  watery. 

Amy  stood  behind  the  floating  lace  of  the  window 
drapery,  looking  out  upon  the  street.  Doctor  Duncan 
was  coming  to  bid  her  good-by.  He  was  to  set  sail  for 
Europe  early  in  the  month,  and  join  his  relatives  in  Switz- 
erland. His  health,  which  had  always  been  so  sound, 
began  to  show  unmistakable  symptoms  of  deterioration, 
and  he  was  unable  to  resist  the  entreaties  of  his  friends 
and  the  urgent  demands  of  his  own  exhausted  energy  to 
take  a  rest. 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  myself,"  he  had  said,  in  telling 
her  of  his  determination.  "  No  man  with  a  work  like 


THE    WORLD    WELL    USED. 


207 


mine  should  neglect  the  care  of  his  health."  And  he 
had  felt  a  selfish  glow  of  delight  at  the  pale  smile  she  gave 
him  and  the  trembling  voice  in  which  she  had  expressed 
approval  of  his  determination. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  when  you  have  gone?"  she  had 
cried. 

But  now,  as  she  waited  for  his  coming,  her  thoughts 
were  not  of  him.  The  borders  of  Cheswick,  that  the 
spring  days  would  touch  into  rare  beauty  of  bloom  and 
leafage,  led  to  one  avenue  after  another  of  that  happy 
land  in  which  her  brief  past  of  delight  had  been  spent, 
and  from  thence  it  was  a  short  passageway  across  to  the 
dark  landscape,  whither,  always  alone  and  ever  receding, 
he  travelled.  Where  was  he  this  evening,  while  she  stood 
here  behind  the  falling  curtains  and  thought  of  him? 
Was  he  pushing  his  way  over  obstacles  in  that  unknown 
land  whither  his  footsteps  wended?  Were  there  influ- 
ences at  work  there  that  would  cause  him  to  forget  her  ? 
or  was  he  working  and  waiting  and  trusting  to  a  future 
that  would  annul  the  record  of  his  past?  Often  she  felt 
a  keen  fear  for  him.  His  nature  had  been  so  healthy,  so 
firm  to  resist  corroding  influences,  but  in  his  veins  ran  the 
quick  passion  of  his  race,  and,  sympathetic  as  the  spark 
to  the  tinder,  might  it  not  spring  to  life  and  conquer  him 
again,  as  it  had  done  so  fatally  once  before?  Once  it 
had  been  as  iron  to  bend,  as  steel  to  resist,  that  strong 
brave  will,  but  one  little  flaw,  and,  alas !  too  often  the 
strong  bar  is  marred,  the  lustre  of  the  bright  steel  dimmed. 
Or  had  that  one  temptation  to  which  he  had  yielded  been 
opposed  as  a  barrier  forever  to  the  passionate  lava-tide 
of  temper  that  had  worked  so  many  Cheswicks'  undoing 
before  him?  She  liked  best  to  think  that  it  had.  Some 
might  have  thrown  away  all  fancied  obligations  of  body 
and  soul  upon  such  bitter  provocation  as  he  had  endured  ; 


2o8  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

but  not  him,  with  his  keen,  just  perception  of  what  was 
due  himself  and  his  God.  She  liked  best  to  think  that, 
where  he  was  enduring  and  struggling,  her  love  was  as  an 
aegis  thrown  about  him,  keeping  his  heart  and  hands  clean 
for  her  sake,  inciting  him  to  renewed  endeavor,  to 
renewed  patience  and  hope.  For  since  that  terrible  day 
when  Rabys  Holme  was  carried  a  white,  breathless,  bleed- 
ing body  up  the  stone  steps  of  Cheswick,  Amy  had  known 
all  that  he  had  suffered  in  silence  from  the  treachery  of 
his  smiling-eyed  foe,  and  from  the  terrible  results  of  his 
passionate  deed,  prayerfully,  patiently,  she  trusted  God 
to  deliver  him. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"CARPE   DIEM." 

"  How  sweet  it  is  to  sit  beside  her!" 

Terra  Incognita. 

HE  came  down  the  broad  pavement,  but  did  not  see 
her  standing  there,  looking  out  upon  him  from  the  shroud- 
ing folds  of  lace.  If  he  had,  the  bent  lines  of  his  brow 
would  surely  have  dispersed.  "How  tired  he  looks," 
she  thought,  "  how  very  sad  and  tired  !"  And  so  it  was 
with  gentle  commiseration  in  her  sweet  eyes  that  he  met 
her  coming  half-way  across  the  carpet  to  greet  him. 

How  lovely  she  was,  how  dear  .to  his  heart !  Nothing 
in  the  old  world  could  compensate  for  the  loss  of  this 
sweet  creature.  He  sat  down  near  her,  and  they  fell  into 
the  old  quiet  converse,  as  though  this  were  but  another 
of  the  many  evenings  that  preceded  it  and  no  parting 
awaited  them  in  the  near  future. 

"You  were  very  kind  to  send  me  that,"  she  said, 
designating  as  she  spoke  a  large  portfolio  that  lay  on  a 
table  near.  "  Of  course  you  sent  them, — who  else  knows 
of  my  weakness  for  Rhine  views  ? — and  to  think  you  will 
so  soon  be  feasting  your  eyes  upon  the  originals,  you  and 
'  Julee'  !"  with  a  little  sigh. 

"Would  you  believe  it?  I  had  rather  stay  here, 
here  in  dull  prosaic  Baltimore,  if  I  could  conscientiously 
stay." 

"Ah,  yes;  your  work  is  so  satisfying  and  absorbing, 
i 8*  209 


2io  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

I  think  it  is  the  noblest  profession    under  the  sun    to 
alleviate  pain." 

"But  we  make  pain  too." 

"As  God  does,"  she  said,  with  that  appreciative  smile 
on  her  face  that  was  more  exhilarating  to  his  senses  than 
wine,  "so  that  health  may  follow." 

"  I  have  a  fault  to  find  with  you,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"  Only  one?  but  cannot  even  that  be  deferred  on  this 
last  evening  that  we  shall  meet  ?" 

"It  is  not  the  last," — his  voice  wa"s  husky, — "you 
must  not  think  so,"  adding,  in  a  quieter  tone,  "even 
should  I  never  come  back,  there  is  one  more  evening  left 
for  us  to  spend  here :  I  do  not  leave  for  New  York  until 
the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"But  I  thought  you  had  come  to  say  good-by?" 

He  did  not  tell  her  he  had  thought  so  himself,  that  sit- 
ting thus  by  her,  with  the  beauty  of  her  face  so  near  his 
own,  he  was  seized  with  a  very  pagan's  frenzy  to  let  the 
future  take  care  of  itself,  and  to  drift  regardlessly  through 
the  days,  so  that  he  might  but  come  to  her  for  the  com- 
panionship and  sense  of  delicious  restfulness  that  her  near- 
ness ever  imparted  to  him.  He  had  not  forgotten  the 
secret  of  Schiller's  song  as  it  was  revealed  to  him  on  that 
first  night  he  had  ever  seen  her,  but  he  chose  to  ignore 
it.  It  was  enough  that  her  eyes  brightened  beneath  his 
glance,  that  she  showed  such  earnest,  unmistakable  signs 
of  pleasure  in  his  society.  The  grave,  strong,  mature  and 
Christian  man  was  lulling  his  perception  to  sleep  with 
something  of  the  pagan's  "  Di  doman  non  ci  e  contezza  /" 

"  No,  not  this  time  adieu,  though  it  is  but  postponing 
the  evil  hour.  I  have  no  wish  to  say  good-by  to  you, 
Amy."  She  looked  a  little  startled.  When  had  he  ever 
called  her  Amy?  The  woman's  nature  asserted  itself, 
notwithstanding  her  heart  had  been  all  along  so  far  off 


"CARPE  DIEM."  2H 

with  that  one  dear  love  of  her  past.  But  she  hushed  its 
fluttering  and  met  his  glance  with  her  own  serene  smile. 

"Nor  I  to  you;  but  the  fault — the  one  fault  that  you 
can  specify  among  my  legion?" 

"  Why  was  not  I  allowed  participation  in  that  par- 
ticular scheme  that  has  reached  such  full  fruition  by 
now?" 

"  How  did  you  know?"  The  color  came  and  went  fit- 
fully as  ever  did  that  in  "Juice's"  cheeks. 

"  I  was  sitting  with  your  uncle  last  Wednesday  evening, 
and  saw  about  twenty-five  girls,  all  sizes  and  ages,  troop- 
ing in  through  the  area  door,  and  when  I  asked  him  what 
it  meant,  he  told  me  that  it  was  a  class  you  had  been  in- 
structing all  the  winter  in  plain  sewing,  besides  furnishing 
them  a  good  meal,  after  teaching  them  to  cook  it  them- 
selves." 

"Indeed  Aunt  Bab  and  Amanda  deserve  all  the 
credit.  Aunt  Bab  teaches  them  to  sew,  and  Amanda  to 
cook.  You  see,  there  was  such  discomfort  in  their  homes, 
and  we  conceived  the  plan,  auntie  and  I,  of  teaching  them 
how  to  rectify  matters,  at  the  same  time  offering  them 
recreation.  You  have  no  idea  how  well  it  has  worked.  It 
has  been  a  great  source  of  amusement  to  them  to  learn 
cooking  plain  fare  and  bread-baking  in  Amanda's  airy, 
clean  kitchen,  and  I  have  enjoyed  my  share  of  it,  which 
was  merely  nominal,  not  to  say  that  I  have  learned  nothing 
in  the  culinary  department  myself.  I  think  I  might  de- 
velop into  a  famous  housekeeper  if  circumstances  were 
propitious." 

"And  was  that  all,  the  cooking  and  sewing?" 

"Not  quite,"  flushing  again.  "I  always  read  to  them, 
and  several  times  uncle  let  me  bring  them  to  the  library 
since  he  bought  the  upright  piano.  That  delighted  them, 
— the  music  I  mean." 


212  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

"  Did  not  my  sister  and  her  friends  meet  them  here 
last  time?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  sorry  !  but  you  know  I  occasionally  take 
them  through  the  hall  and  parlors.  It  seems  to  afford  them 
such  intense  and  wondering  delight.  That  evening  we  had 
a  new  recruit  in  Janie  Bratt,  a  very  unyielding  sort  of  girl, 
with  such  a  dismal  home,  doctor,  you  could  scarcely 
believe  how  dismal.  She  had  used  all  her  influence, 
which  was  not  small,  against  my  project,  and  resolutely 
refused  to  join  the  class.  When  she  came  I  was  so  sur- 
prised and  delighted,  for  I  knew  that  she  could  do  much 
to  help  me,  if  I  could  only  win  her  confidence  ;  so  when 
one  of  the  girls  proposed  that  I  should  take  Janie  through 
the  parlors  to  see  the  pretty  things  I  did  not  dare  refuse, 
and  indeed  I  had  no  wish  to,  except  that  I  did  just  a  little 
fear  callers  at  that  hour.  Still,  I  could  not  afford  to  com- 
promise my  hardly-won  place  in  Janie's  estimation,  and 
who  should  come  in  upon  us  but  your  sister,  Mrs.  Patter- 
son, and  Miss  Van  Arden  !  Oh,  I  was  so  vexed  !" 

"  And  why  were  you  vexed  ?" 

"Well,  for  many  reasons.  In  the  first  place  it  threw 
my  charities,  as  they  called  it,  in  a  very  conspicuous  light. 
Then  your  sister  chose  to  assume  that  they  all — my  girls 
— were  unnecessarily  unclean,  and  that  I  was  endangering 
everybody's  health  in  the  house  by  bringing  them  here." 

"Poor Helen!"  Doctor  Duncan's  laugh  was  essen- 
tially mirth-provoking.  "  What  next  ?" 

"Well,  then  Miss  Van  Arden — and  oh!  is  not  she 
lovely,  doctor? — Miss  Van  Arden  held  up  both  pretty 
hands,  and  said,  '  My  dear  Miss  Randolph,  you  are  very 
unselfish,  and  z^ryphilanthropical,  and  all  that,  but  could 
not  you  manage  to  do  your  charities  by  proxy?'  ' 

"  Why,  little  girl,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  a  facial- 
ist, — that  was  Miss  Van  Arden  to  the  life ;  and  you,  what 


CARPE  DIEM: 


213 


do  you  say  to  these  fashionable  wolves  in  seal-skin  and 
velvet,  you  poor  innocent  lamb?" 

"  For  shame,  doctor  !"  with  a  bright  laughing  glance, 
for  she  had  lost  all  discomfiture  at  his  discovery:  "I? 
oh,  I  tried  to  be  perfectly  polite;  but  I  was  sure, 
by  Cousin  Helen's  eyebrows,  that  I  had  made  an  irre- 
trievable faux  pas.  I  told  her  that  doing  charities  by 
proxy  was  much  like  marrying  by  proxy, — in  neither  case 
could  you  be  at  all  sure  of  satisfactory  results." 

"Not  bad,  on  my  word,  la  belle  etoil'e,  but  proceed." 

"Well,  there  is  nothing  more  to  tell,  except  that  the 
call  was  very  stiff  and  very  short,  and  left  me  very 
blue!" 

"  That  was  an  unsatisfactory  result  clearly." 

"Yes;  I  tried  to  reason  with  myself,  but  vainly;  I 
had  made  some  dozen  hearts  happier,  but,  all  the  same,  I 
could  not  bear  a  sneer  from  those  who  knew  nothing 
about  my  motives." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  hers,  with  a  touch  infinitely 
tender.  "  'If  ye  were  of  the  world,  the  world  would 
love  its  own.' ' 

Quick  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  "But,  all  the  same, 
the  world's  sneer  hurts.  I  am  a  coward,  my  friend." 

"  It  is  that  we  have  too  much  vanity,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing gravely  and  gently,  still  with  the  light  weight  of  his 
hand  upon  hers;  "we  would  have  our  motives  recog- 
nized as  pure  and  worthy.  It  is  not  enough  that  He 
knows,  that  a  few  of  our  nearest  and  dearest  friends  know, 
but  we  are  tenacious  of  the  world's,  of  everybody's  good 
opinion.  Stop  and  think:  is  not  that  it?" 

"It  had  not  seemed  so  to  me;  but  I  see  that  it  is. 
What  makes  you  so  wise  ?  You  know  me  better  than  I 
know  myself!" 

"It  is   but  the  wisdom  of  experience,  child.     I  have 


214 


IN  SAA'CHO  PANZAS  PIT. 


lived  longer  than  you ;  I  have  tested  life's  motives  more 
thoroughly.  Now,  little  girl,  go  play  for  me.  It  will  be 
long,  after  a  few  days  shall  have  passed,  until  I  hear  such 
sweet  sounds  again." 

"But  'Julee'  plays,  oh,  how  beautifully!  much  finer 
than  I.  Never  have  I  heard  anything  so  splendid  as 
Julia's  music.  It  is  all  triumph  and  glad  merriment." 

It  troubled  him  that  she  should  so  suddenly  look  like 
that,  that  the  shadow  should  so  veil  those  lovely  young 
eyes.  Would  he  never  be  able  to  exorcise  the  memory 
that  stole  her  heart  so  often  from  her,  as  it  was  stolen 
now,  while  she  sat  so  near,  his  hand  upon  hers,  the  bright- 
ness of  her  hair  almost  brushing  his  shoulder? 

He  smothered  a  great  sigh  in  his  breast  and  arose. 
"  Come,  I  want  to  place  you  in  the  centre  of  Schumann's 
circle,  here  upon  your  piano-stool ;  now  lose  yourself  to 
me,  if  you  please,  but  give  me  something  better  than  the 
sadness  of  those  eyes  for  compensation."  She  touched 
the  keys  with  a  baffling  smile.  "I  will  do  my  best," 
she  said,  "but  my  music  is  a  sort  of  Fortunatus  cap,  and 
it  is  only  when  alone,  invisible,  that  I  wear  it  to  any 
purpose. ' ' 

"Alone  !"  her  words  struck  through  him  with  a  chill. 
Was  he  ever  to  stand  outside  the  circle,  catching  only  the 
outer  waves  of  harmony  that  she  made?  Ah,  well,  carpe 
diem,  and  to-morrow  is  yet  to  come  ! 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

FAREWELL. 

"  Hide  me  up  from  my  own  despair, 
And  the  ghost  of  a  dream  I  dreamed  !" 

A  V  Entresol. 

HE  went  over  to  where  she  sat,  straying  from  him  afar 
in  some  dream-realm  of  melody.  He  leaned  against  the 
lid  of  the  piano  as  he  had  leaned  on  that  other  evening, 
and  read  in  her  eyes  the  same  shadow  of  patient  longing 
and  regret.  Ah,  why  did  she  ever  evade  him  like  this, 
when  he  stood  so  near,  with  his  palpable  presence  and  warm 
human  heart  overflowing  with  love  for  her?  why  must 
she  escape  him  to  wander  through  those  dreary  lands  of 
memory  ?  Dreary  they  must  be,  since  their  shadow  was 
ever  so  dark  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  face.  "  I  have  still 
to-day,"  he  had  said,  "and  to-morrow  is  not  yet  come;" 
then  why  must  he  needs  forestall  the  morrow,  except  that, 
with  the  impatience  of  human  love  and  longing,  he  could 
not  await  the  result  ? 

"Why  do  you  look  so  sad,  Amy?  Of  what  are  you 
thinking?" 

How  very  far  she  must  have  strayed  that  his  voice 
should  startle  her  so  ! 

"  I  have  double  reason  for  sadness  to-night.  My  work 
will  seem  very  solitary  after  you  have  left.  I  do  not  like 
to  think  how  I  shall  miss  you." 

"  Go  with  me,  Amy,  will  not  you?  It  breaks  my  heart 
to  leave  you.  Child,  I  had  not  meantfcto  tell  you,  but  I 

215 


216  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

love  you  better  than  my  own  life, — I  think,  next  to  my 
God.  Go  with  me;  do  not  send  me  off  alone,  I  cannot 
bear  it."  He  made  a  step  toward  her;  tears  were  in  his 
eyes;  his  voice  was  husky  and  broken.  But  what  is  this 
he  sees?  The  slight  figure  shrinking  away  from  him, 
pain  that  is  almost  horror  in  the  frightened  eyes ! 

"  Doctor,  Doctor  Duncan  !"  The  words  rang  across  his 
own  with  an  accentuation  of  keenest  surprise  and  entreaty. 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  led  her  over  to  the  sofa 
where  they  had  sat  together  earlier  in  the  evening ; 
then  he  sat  down  beside  her,  quietly,  deliberately,  though 
his  face  was  white,  and  his  hands  holding  hers  had  grown 
cold. 

"  Have  I  made  a  mistake,  Amy?  do  you  not,  then,  care 
for  me?" 

"  Care  for  you?  I  love  you  dearly,  dearly,  even  better 
than  'Julee,'  but  not — not — in  //ta/way." 

Then  reading  the  bitter  pain  and  disappointment  in 
his  face,  the  girl  broke  into  bitter  weeping.  "I  have 
broken  your  heart!"  she  cried,  with  the  naivete  of  a 
child;  "oh,  what  will  you  do?"  For  to  her,  whose 
love  was  so  sacred,  so  blessed  a  thing,  even  amidst  the 
cloud  of  uncertainty  and  anguish  which  enveloped  it,  the 
suffering  she  had  unwittingly  inflicted  seemed  too  terrible 
to  contemplate. 

"  Do  not,"  he  said,  regarding  the  slight  figure  by  his 
side  and  making  a  motion,  which  he  as  speedily  checked, 
to  take  the  sobbing  girl  in  his  arms.  "Why  are  you  so 
troubled,  Amy  ?  I  blame  you  with  nothing." 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  broken  your  heart.  Do  you  think  I 
cannot  see  that  your  lips  are  twitching,  that  your  face  is 
white?  After  all  you  have  done  for  me,  to  have  treated 
you  so ! " 

"Hush,  dear  child !    has    it    been    your    fault?     How 


FAREWELL.  217 

could  you  know  that  I  was  going  to  make  such  a  dolt  of 
myself?  There,  there,  little  girl,  wipe  away  your  tears  ; 
my  heart  is  not  quite  broken, — see!"  He  smiled — al- 
most his  old  smile — down  into  her  wet  eyes.  Oh,  finite 
heart,  so  near  the  infinite  !  "You  will  still  be  my  good 
little  friend,  always  my  friend,  will  you  not?" 

"  Your  friend  !"  She  flashed  him  a  glance,  half  indig- 
nant, half  appealing.  ' '  It  is  giving  you  a  stone  when  you 
ask  for  bread, — but  no  !  I  did  not  ever  dream  that  you 
asked  for  more.  You  believe  me?" 

"How  can  you  ask?  You  have  been  loyal  in  friend- 
ship, dear,  as  I  in — love."  Then  his  voice  quavered  and 
broke ;  the  sweet  pained  face  glimmered  before  his  eyes 
through  a  sudden  glamour  of  tears. 

"You  have  not  asked  me  why,"  she  said,  after  a  pause, 
in  a  half  whisper,  "  why  I  cannot  love  you  as  you  ask." 
Amy,  independent  of  les  convenances  always,  feared  least 
of  all  misconstruction  from  this  familiar  friend. 

"It  is  enough  to  know  that  you  do  not."  All  the 
broken  sweetness  of  his  dream  eked  out  in  those  simple 
words. 

"It  is  your  right  to  know,"  she  said. 

He  made  a  gesture  of  protest.  "If  it  will  pain  you 
do  not  tell  me,"  he  said.  "  I  have  had  no  time  to  realize 
my  disappointment,  much  less  to  digest  the  cause  of  it.  I 
had  grown  blind,  I  believe,  else  how  could  I  have  read 
so  much  more  than  you  meant  in  your  tender  little 
helpful  ways  ?  It  is  your  nature  to  be  gentle, — gentle  to 
those  hungry,  ragged  children,  as  well  as  to  me." 

"Indeed  no!"  she  cried.  "You  have  given  me  so 
much ;  you  have  taught  me  how  to  be  useful,  how  to  be 
almost  content,  and  I  was  so  grateful  to  you.  I  loved  you 
so  well,  in  an  honest,  friendly  way  that  I  did  not  care  to 
hide.  It  is  my  selfishness,  after  all,  that  has  misled  you ; 

'9 


2i8  Iff  SANCHO  PANZA*S  PIT. 

and  I  gave  to  you  without  a  thought  of  any  consequence 
my  time,  and  many  of  my  thoughts,  because  you  modified 
them  and  tempered  them  for  so  much  better  uses  than  I 
could  alone." 

He  was  walking  slowly  the  length  of  the  room,  and 
as  he  walked  it  seemed  to  his  disordered  fancy  that  he 
crushed  out  of  shape  with  every  step  some  flower  of  hope 
that  had  wafted  him  a  mocking  fragrance  not  longer  than 
an  hour  ago. 

"  Will  you  not  listen  ?"  She  went  over  to  his  side  and 
laid  a  trembling  hand  on  his  arm.  "You  told  me  once 
that  I  had  some  sorrow  that  was  making  me  uneasy  and 
sad  :  have  you  forgotten?" 

No,  he  had  not  forgotten  ;  but  he  could  not  for  the  life 
of  him  force  the  words  from  his  shaking  lips.  He  knew 
that  she  loved  another,  that  there  was  no  hope  for  him ; 
but  all  the  while  he  had  not  strangled  desire,  and 
while  he  felt  that  he  would  gladly  have  laid  down  his  life 
to  spare  her  pain,  he  knew  that  to  live  and  see  her  go 
to  another's  arms  when  his  own  were  aching  to  hold  her 
would  involve  a  heroism  greater  than  death,  more  abso- 
lute than  was  in  his  power  now  to  contemplate. 

"Do  not  tell  me  now,"  he  said,  huskily,  holding  the 
little  hand  in  a  tight,  hard  clasp, — "  some  other  time,  not 
now."  In  another  instant  he  was  gone. 

She  heard  his  steps  receding  down  the  quiet  pavement. 
She  threw  herself  on  a  sofa,  weeping  with  an  abandon  that 
had  never  mitigated  her  troubles  before.  He  was  so  good, 
so  noble ;  he  had  borne  such  tender  care  for  her,  such  un- 
obtrusive, chivalrous  devotion,  and  she  must  requite  him 
thus.  "Oh,  why  did  we  ever  meet?"  she  cried.  "There 
are  so  many  women  in  the  world,  pure-hearted  and  good, 
with  hearts  free  to  love  him, — why  out  of  all  should  he 
have  chosen  me,  who  am  so  utterly  another's?" 


FAREWELL. 


219 


Thus  she  rebelled  at  the  inscrutable  sequence  of 
events  that  led  to  their  meeting,  as  we  so  often  do,  in 
these  dim  lives  of  ours,  little  knowing  that  what  we,  for  want 
of  a  better  name,  call  chance  is  the  great  motive-power 
by  which  God  convenes  his  designs  in  working  out  those 
problems  that  so  pitifully  confound  our  human  under- 
standings. It  seemed  only  very  cruel,  very  unjust  that 
he,  in  his  gracious  manhood,  should  mar  its  purposes  by 
a  misplaced  affection  ;  that  he,  so  devoted  to  all  the 
interests  of  humanity,  should  suffer  such  a  want  through 
its  subtlest  influence.  She  had  yet  to  learn,  our  Amy,  that 
some  souls  thrive  upon  affliction  as  the  food  best  suited  to 
their  spiritual  growth,  that  God  of  times  denies  His  best- 
beloved  the  poor  symbols  of  love  upon  earth  that  they 
may  reach  after  and  long  for  all  the  more  ardently  the 
rich  reality  to  be  gained  hereafter. 

It  is  very  strange,  but  I  think  you  will  bear  me  out  in 
its  truth,  that  of  all  the  world's  passions  none  other  exert 
such  paradoxical  influences  upon  the  human  heart  as 
love.  Transporting  to  rapture,  it  also  reduces  to  despair ; 
humanizing  a  Nero,  and  inciting  a  Pericles  to  war;  writ- 
ing with  the  same  pen  epics  and  tragedies,  shouting  with 
the  same  voice  notes  of  exultation  to-day,  wailing  in  a 
minor  key  to-morrow  ;  investing  the  timid  maiden  with 
the  courage  of  the  martyr,  making  the  strong  man  trem- 
ble, a  very  coward.  And  of  all  its  passions  through  love 
the  world  reaps  its  richest  rewards,  as  it  suffers  its  keenest 
throes  of  agony. 

"  Of  all  the  world's  passions,  I  had  rather  suffer  through 
love,"  Doctor  Duncan  had  said  to  Amy  in  the  early 
days  of  their  intimacy,  "because  of  all  it,  alone,  attains 
to  perfection  in  heaven."  And  the  words  had  held  an 
unconscious  prophecy ;  for  he  suffered,  alas  !  as  he  in  his 
strong  contented  manhood  had  never  dreamed  it  was  in 


220  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

his  heart  to  suffer,  for  he  might  never  dare  hope  to  grasp 
the  lovely  elusive  symbol  that  is  alone  merged  into  the 
substance  when  earthly  sense  and  sight  are  dimmed 
forever.  Love  truer,  fonder,  purer,  and  for  that  very 
trio  of  sentiment  more  enduring,  than  his  had  never  been 
since  the  world  began. 

With  the  soul  of  a  Christian,  he  found  her  gentle  virtues 
answer  his  every  requirement ;  with  the  percept  ions  of  an 
artist,  he  found  his  fairest  ideal  fully  realized  in  her  youth- 
ful grace  and  beauty ;  with  the  loving,  passionate  heart 
of  a  man,  he  found  in  her  sympathy  and  tender  loving 
nature  all  he  could  have  asked  to  make  his  life  complete. 
But  his  hopes  were  never  to  reach  fruition,  never  !  The 
sweet  sad  eyes  were  never  to  kindle  with  love  for  him,  the 
gentle  heart,  infinite,  tender,  infinitely  pitiful  to  him,  as 
to  all  the  world,  would  never  throb  at  his  coming  or 
beneath  the  close  clasp  of  his  arms.  It  was  desolation 
all  the  more  complete  because  until  now  he  had  been 
so  blind.  She  had  given  him  such  sweet  half-shy  sym- 
pathy, such  shifting  blushes ;  she  had  not  scrupled  to  let 
him  see  how  entirely  dependent  upon  him  was  her  com- 
fort in  this  alien  society  into  which  she  had  been  forced. 
Men  of  as  keen  perceptions  before  him  had  failed  to 
understand  a  woman,  and  it  serves  to  illustrate  the  rare 
justice  of  his  character  that,  in  all  his  pain,  he  never 
sought  to  excuse  his  folly  by  attaching  blame  to  her. 
She  was  a  child,  a  belle  etoile,  who  had  spent  all  her  brief 
young  life  among  the  fresh  unhidden  beauties  of  the  coun- 
try. She  had  nothing  to  conceal  in  glance  or  thought, 
except,  perhaps,  the  substance  of  that  shadow  that  made 
her  young  life  so  dark  at  times ;  and  even  that  she  had 
not  wholly  concealed  from  him.  But  he  had  chosen  to 
ignore  the  clue  that  he  had  caught  on  that  first  evening 
of  his  meeting,  or  rather  he  had  allowed  it  to  escape  him 


FAREWELL.  221 

in  the  enchanting  abstraction  of  the  moment,  and  now  he 
was  to  have  it  thrust  upon  him,  nay,  more,  he  was  to  fol- 
low it  through  the  dark  and  dreary  windings  of  the  laby- 
rinth whither  it  led.  But  he  did  not  blame  her  that  he 
had  been  deluded  by  the  soft  sympathy  of  her  smiles,  the 
sweetness  of  her  glances.  He  had  not  loved  her  so  well 

and  known  her  so  little. 
********** 

Several  days  elapsed  before  he  had  the  courage  to  meet 
her,  and  Amy  wondered  sadly  if  he  had  gone  without 
bidding  her  good-by.  She  searched  the  papers  for  tid- 
ings of  his  departure.  At  last  Jacob  brought  in  the  card 
she  had  been  looking  for,  and  she  hailed  it  with  a  mixed 
feeling  of  dread  and  relief. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come!"  she  said,  when 
she  went  to  him  in  the  drawing-room.  He  held  her 
hand  in  his  old  kindly  grasp,  but  ah !  there  were  dark 
shadows  beneath  the  kind  gray  eyes,  and  Amy's  heart 
smote  her  afresh  when  he  spoke. 

"That  would  have  meant  so  much  to  me  this  time  last 
week."  ' 

He  had  not  meant  to  make  any  weak  murmur,  any  idle 
plaint ;  but  the  strong  man  was  weak,  and  could  not 
reckon  surely  as  of  old  upon  his  strength  of  will  to  curb 
unwelcome  impulses. 

She  took  a  low  chair  and  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap 
with  the  old  gesture  of  patience  and  resignation.  "And 
yet  I  mean  it  this  evening  just  as  I  have  always  meant  it," 
she  said. 

"Yes,  and  I  thank  you;  it  is  something  to  be  your 
friend." 

They  were  silent  then,  thinking  what  they  could  say 
to  one  another  with  this  great  barrier  between  them. 
His  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  face  with  their  old  lingering 

19* 


222  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

gaze.  A  wandering  sunbeam  shot  a  golden  arrow  through 
her  hair  where  she  leaned  her  head  against  the  dark  blue 
velvet  of  the  chair.  He  drew  near  to  her. 

"Amy,  I  have  passed  through  bitter  waters  since  I  saw 
you;  there  is  small  need  to  tell  you  that." 

At  th\.  first  sound  of  his  voice  she  closed  her  eyes, 
crushing  back  the  tears  with  a  sob. 

"  It  was  so  dark  at  first  that  I  lost  sight  of  all  the  old 
landmarks,  but  that  could  not  be  for  long.  Across  the 
waters  a  Voice  called,  a  Hand  was  stretched  out  to  help 
me,  and  so  the  worst  is  over." 

The  tears  were  coursing  madly  now  down  the  white 
cheeks,  though  the  dark  lashes  were  still  closed  fast  above 
them.  For  all  answer,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  where  it 
rested  on  the  arm  of  her  chair.  She  was  such  a  child  ; 
she  acted  but  upon  the  impulse  of  her  pity  for  him.  How 
could  she  know  that  it  was  a  part  of  the  lesson  he  had  set 
himself  to  learn  when  his  fingers  did  not  move  beneath 
the  light  flower-weight  of  hers,  though  the  blood  rushed 
in  a  torrent  over  his  pale,  stern  face. 

"The  worst  is  over,  Amy,  and  I  am  your  true  friend, 
ready  to  do  everything  but  die  for  you.  We  do  not  die 
for  our  friends  in  this  practical  age,  though  I  question 
if  we  do  not  often  find  it  harder  to  live  when  life  seems 
hopeless." 

"Oh,  if  you  talk  like  that  you  will  break  my  heart," 
she  sobbed.  "But  life  is  not  hopeless;  you  are  too 
brave  and  strong  to  feel  that  long.  You  will  find  rest  in 
your  work, — you  said  always  one  might  do  that.  You 
said  you  believed,  with  Schiller,  that  man  could  grieve 
down  everything,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  loss: 
don't  you  remember?  And  you  are  too  good  to  suffer 
long." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  passed  his  hand  over 


FAREWELL. 


223 


his  brow.  "  No,  I  shall  not  find  life  hopeless,  little  girl ; 
you  are  right.  It  is  a  poor  physician  who  fears  to  test  his 
own  prescriptions,  and  you  were  wise  to  suggest  the  use 
of  them.  But  about  being  too  good  to  suffer,  dear  child, 
you  are  altogether  wrong  in  the  abstract ;  putting  our- 
selves entirely  out  of  the  question,  virtues  never  yet  won 
for  a  man  immunity  from  the  suffering  incidental  to  his 
kind.  Phidias's  fidelity  did  not  save  him  from  a  prison; 
the  heroic  qualities  of  Phocian  the  Good  did  not  spare  him 
the  fatal  draught  when  the  fickle  Athenians  met  in  the 
Assembly.  I  disclaim  all  fellowship  with  martyrs,  Amy ; 
it  is  only  what  thousands  have  endured  before  me,  though 
I  am  prone  to  wonder  if  ever  lover  had  more  to  relinquish 
than  I." 

"But  you  will  find  another, — some  one  far  more 
worthy, — with  a  heart  free  to  give " 

"But,"  he  interrupted  her,  "it  is  you,  not  the  free- 
hearted one,  I  love,  you  who  have  no  heart  to  give 
me!" 

"  No ;  in  the  sense  you  mean,  I  cannot  give  you  love ; 
but  esteem,  confidence,  and  reverence  more  than  I  ever 
yet  gave  to  human  creature,  if  that  could  but  satisfy 
you " 

He  interrupted  her.  Ah,  what  will  not  a  man  do  for 
the  life  of  his  life,  love,  that  divine  gift  that  comes  to 
so  few  to  know  and  hold  aright?  His  eyes  were  shining, 
the  color  was  warm  on  his  brow. 

"  You  mean  could  I  be  satisfied  with  that  much  from 
you?"  he  said  rapidly,  with  eager  hesitation.  "  Oh,  my 
darling,  I  will  be  satisfied  with  the  merest  liking  only,  for 
if  you  gave  yourself  to  me,  surely  in  time  the  stronger 
feeling  would  follow." 

But  he  had  mistaken  her  meaning.  "No,  no!"  she 
cried.  "  I  could  never  be  your  wife,  because,  because  I 


224  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

belong  to  another,  and  though  we  may  never  meet  in  this 
world  still  I  belong  to  him!" 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak,  but  he  did  not.  The  utter 
death  of  hope  in  his  heart  after  that  brief  relapse  left  him 
powerless  to  struggle  even. 

"  We  belonged  to  each  other  from  the  first,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  mantling  blush  on  her  cheeks  and  a  widened 
splendor  in  her  eyes  that  he  had  never  before  seen  there. 
"  We  did  not  think  about  it  any  more  than  we  thought 
of  the  air  we  breathed,  because  we  were  so  essential  to 
each  other,  and  so  congenial  in  every  thought  and  taste." 
She  was  leaning  toward  him,  speaking  as  though  to  her 
own  heart.  "For  one  year  we  were  together,  when  he 
angered  his  father,  my  uncle,  and  he  left.  But  I  can  say 
no  more.  Others  are  involved  from  this  point,  him- 
self most  of  all ;  but  there  are  reasons  why  he  may  never 
come  back  again,  never  !  He  is  more  sinned  against 
than  sinning,  though  he  is  not  guiltless.  And  he  said 
when  he  left  that  when  his  father  came  to  forgive  him 
I  should  call  him  back  ;  but  I  do  not  know  where  to  find 
him,  I  do  not  even  dream,  neither  Jacob  Martin  nor 
I ;  and  uncle  has  forgiven  him,  I  am  sure,  though  he  has 
never  spoken  his  name,  but  he  longs  for  him,  as  we  all  do, 
only  he  is  very  proud  and  will  not  humble  himself  to 
admit  it." 

"And  why  have  you  not  heard  in  all  this  while? 
Surely  he  has  communicated  with  you." 

"Wait  before  you  judge  him,"  and  Amy  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  for  a  moment ;  when  she  lifted  it  again 
Doctor  Duncan  was  shocked  at  the  whiteness  and  the 
vague  terror  upon  it. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it  if  it  trouble  you  like  this."  And 
he  thought,  "  How  she  must  love  this  man,  that  the  mere 
memory  of  him  has  power  to  move  her  like  this !" 


FAREWELL. 


225 


"You  have  not  heard  all ;  and  I  owe  it  to  you  to  tell 
you  all."  Then  faithfully  she  recounted  to  him  that  ter- 
rible tragedy  that  had  sent  the  last  of  the  Cheswicks  a 
wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"  And  it  is  for  him  you  are  waiting,  for  him  ?  O  Amy, 
what  hope?"  The  hydra  had  revived  to  die  again. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know  all,  I  have  not  told  you :  listen  !" 
And  she  leaned  nearer,  until  her  head  almost  touched  his 
shoulder,  while  she  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

The  sunlight  had  long  ago  died  from  the  windows  of 
the  square.  A  servant  came  in  to  replenish  the  grate  and 
light  the  chandelier.  He  looked  with  stolid  wonder  at 
the  white  face  of  his  young  lady  when  the  springing  gas- 
jets  threw  it  in  pallid  relief  against  the  velvet  of  her  chair, 
and  at  Doctor  Duncan  leaning  back  against  the  ottoman 
so  silently. 

"I  have  opened  my  heart  to  you,"  she  said,  "but  that 
is  because  I  would  save  you  from  further  harm  that  I 
might  unwittingly  deal  you.  You  see  now  how  impossible 
it  is  for  me  to  think  of  anything  but  how  to  find  and 
save  him.  Consciousness  of  wrong  less  cruel  has  made  the 
strongest  reckless  before  him,  and  his  was  a  nature  to  loathe 
the  simplest  dereliction  from  right.  It  is  no  vain  quest." 

"No,  it  is  no  vain  quest,"  he  echoed.  "I  thank 
you  for  your  candor.  Let  it  go,  that  broken  dream  of 
mine ;  never  remember  it.  I  am  the  better  for  having 
dreamed  it,  I  know ;  for  it  is  only  through  actual  ex- 
perience that  we  grow  to  appreciate  the  troubles  of  our 
fellow-creatures.  What  does  he  look  like,  this  lost  love 
of  yours?  How  should  I  know  him  if  we  were  to  meet  ?" 

"Wait."  she  cried,  "let  me  bring  Aunt  Bab,  and  we 
will  go  together  and  show  you  his  portrait.  It  is  an  old 
one,  painted  when  he  was  but  seventeen,  and  uncle  had 
it  sent  up  from  Cheswick  for  a  surprise  to  me.  Do  you 


226  Iff  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

remember  the  evening  you  took  me  to  see  the  Lorraine? 
You  found  me  crying:  it  was  because  I  was  so  happy 
that  uncle  gave  it  to  me,  because  it  said  plainer  than 
words  how  he  longed  to  have  him  back." 

Miss  Bab  came  at  Amy's  call,  and  together  they  went 
up  to  Amy's  room.  It  hung  above  the  chimney-piece, 
and  beneath  it  was  a  dish  of  flowers,  mignonette  and 
sweet  heliotrope.  The  girl  blushed  as  the  gentleman 
touched  the  flowers  with  his  fingers  and  bent  his  head  to 
inhale  their  fragrance,  but  the  tears  came  when  he  lifted 
his  head,  for  his  kind  eyes  were  so  sad,  and  they  said 
plainer  than  any  words  that  she  lavished  her  loving  ten- 
der little  offices  upon  this  dumb  canvas,  while  he  was 
fain  to  content  himself  with  her  friendship. 

"It  is  very  like  him,  except  that,  of  course,  he  looked 
older,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  Rick  though,  all  over  !"  cried  old  Miss  Bab,  with 
a  very  perceptible  sniffle  and  choking  of  the  voice.  "  Does 
the  doctor  know  about  Rick,  Amy?" 

But  the  doctor  covered  her  confusion.  "  Miss  Randolph 
has  told  me  his  sad  history,  Miss  Cheswick,  and  I  wanted 
to  carry  away  with  me  some  tangible  likeness  of  him. 
Who  knows  but  we  shall  meet,  and  it  would  be  well 
for  him  to  know  how  he  is  loved  and  longed  for  at 
home." 

"Amy,  do  you  think  it  at  all  likely?  say,  my  dear,  do 
you  think  Doctor  Duncan  would  know  Rick  even  should 
he  meet  him?"  The  keen  old  eyes  were  dim;  they 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  a  wavering,  unsteady 
way  that  was  very  touching. 

"The  world  is  wide,  Miss  Cheswick,  they  say," — he 
spoke  in  strong  steady  tones, — "  but  I  have  not  found  it  so 
wide  but  that  we  are  constantly  being  jostled  against  the 
people  we  imagined  the  farthest  away.  Like  the  colored 


FAREWELL. 


227 


glass  bits  of  a  kaleidoscope,  we  are  all  shaken  together  one 
time  or  another.  It  is  not  improbable,  believe  me." 

She  laid  a  hand  on  his  sleeve  when  he  was  about  to  go. 
"  He  wore  a  ring;  you  might  probably  detect  him  by  it," 
she  said,  the  color  warm  on  her  face,  "for  I  fancy  he 
wears  it  yet, — a  brown  intaglio  cut  into  the  figure  of  Ne- 
mesis, with  a  helm  in  one  hand  and  a  wheel  in  the  other. 
The  setting  is  plain  and  heavy,  and  the  figure  I  am  sure 
you  could  not  mistake." 

"I  shall  remember." 

Then  he  bade  her  farewell,  lingeringly,  as  Sir  Siegfried 
might  have  done  when,  looking  down  into  Rienhild's 
eyes,  he  prayed  that  Odin  would  bring  him  to  bask  in 
their  sweet  light  again.  Only  for  Siegfried  there  was 
answering  love  in  the  lady's  glartce,  and  for  him,  while 
much  of  pity  and  sympathy  and  sweet  entreaty,  there  was 
no  love.  That  was  given  to  him  beneath  whose  portrait 
she  offered  up  the  incense  of  her  heliotrope  and  mignon- 
ette. Ah,  well !  love,  earthly  love,  is  but  a  symbol  after 
all,  and  he  who  would  fain  grasp  the  reality  must  be  con- 
tent ofttimes  to  let  the  symbol  go. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"ROSELEIN." 

"  Rosebud  fair !    Rosebud  fair ! 
Can  it  be  that  thorns  are  there  ?" 

SCHUMANN. 

"  I  VENTURE  to  say  that  a  woman  wrote  it." 
It  was  a  man  who  spoke,  his  legs  producing  that  very 
elegant  angle  apparently  so  conducive  to  the  bodily  ease 
of  the  stronger  sex.     Whenever  I  see  a  pair  of  masculine 
limbs  so  disposed,  I  am  reminded  with  a  slight  tinge  of 
mocking  humor,  perhaps,  of  the  classic  source  from  whence 
the  indispensable  gear  of  said  members  has  drawn  its  dis- 
tinguishing title.     Planter  of  the  Lion  forsooth  !     Think 
of  that,  ye  lovers  of  classic  traditions,   and  wonder  at 
nothing  in  an  age  like  this  that  corrupts  St.  Mark's  lofty 
escutcheon  into  the  "  pantaloon"  of  the  tailor's  model ! 
"  I  venture  to  say  that  a  woman  wrote  it." 
"What  are  the  indications?"    asked  his  companion, 
taking  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  knocking  the  ashes 
lightly  off  into  the  bowl. 

The  first  speaker  whiffed  contemplatively  at  a  huge 

meerschaum,  and  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  deliberate 

conviction.    Then  he  settled  a  pair  of  violet-tinted  glasses 

that  he  wore  more  comfortably  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose, 

and  between  vigorous  whiffs  at  his  pipe  proceeded  to 

enumerate  the  "  indications"  as  they  existed  in  his  mind. 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  style  is  diffuse ;  in  the  second, 

there  prevails  a  Tennysonian  use  of  adjectives ;  and  in 

228 


ROSELEIN." 


229 


the  third,  to  sum  the  whole,  the  observations  are  striking, 
but  the  theories,  for  the  most  part,  are  faulty." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  there;  I  find  the  theories  fully 
sustained  by  the  observations.  It  is  not  a  failure  by  any 
means." 

"  I  should  say  not ;  but  there  is  very  little  of  the  dust 
of  toil  perceptible  in  its  pages." 

"  And  that  is  why  I  find  it  such  pleasant  reading.  De- 
fend me  from  a  novel  that  undertakes  to  serve  you  a  dish 
of  logic  and  metaphysics  and  theology  in  a  single  olla 
podrida  /" 

"The  critics  are  divided,  though  those  highest  in  re- 
pute give  it  some  decided  praise.  '  Roselein,' — by  the  way, 
a  very  fanciful  nom  de  plume,  one  of  Schumann's  German 
songs,  is  it  not? — 'Roselein'  has  quite  enough  encourage- 
ment from  the  critics,  I  should  say,  to  induce  her  to  try 
her  pen  at  another  venture." 

"  I  don't  doubt  she'll  try  again  ;  women  are  not  easily 
daunted." 

The  first  speaker  laughed,  bringing  his  legs  down  from 
their  height  and  rubbing  them  a  little  as  he  rose  from  his 
easy-chair. 

"  You  laugh  more  than  usual  to-night,  my  good  fellow. 
What  has  happened  ? — 

"  '  The  older  that  one  grows 
Inclines  us  more  to  laugh  than  scold.'  " 

"  You  will  do  well  to  bear  in  mind  the  old  proverb,  my 
good  fellow  :  'Ce  n*  est  pas  etre  bien-aise  que  de  rire  /'  ' 

"  '  But  laughter 
Leaves  one  so  doubly  serious  shortly  after.'  " 

"  What  a  queer  fellow  you  are,  Cheston ;  you  have  a 
quotation  in  readiness  for  every  occasion." 

Cheston  arose,  knotting  the  cord  of  his  dressing-gown 
20 


230 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


about  his  waist,  and  going  over  to  the  remote  end  of  the 
apartment,  where  stood  an  organ  with  scattered  sheets  of 
music  on  the  cover. 

"  Don't  let  me  bore  you,  Duncan,"  he  said  ;  "  when 
you're  tired  consider  yourself  dismissed."  With  which 
he  sat  down  to  the  organ. 

The  room  was  evidently  a  work-shop  of  some  sort,  though 
it  bore  indications  of  refined  and  cultivated  tastes.  Beside 
the  organ  there  was  a  piano,  a  much-worn  Checkering;  on 
the  piano  ledge  a  metronome,  that  had  been  set  in  mo- 
tion, ticked  with  the  regularity  of  an  old-fashioned  eight- 
day  clock.  On  the  table  there  were  Bertini  Methods  and 
Harmony  Instructors  and  thorough-bass  primers  lying 
about,  and  an  immense  blackboard,  covering  a  wide 
space  of  the  wall  behind  the  piano,  indicated  by  its  illus- 
trations, from  the  common  chord  up  to  the  chord  of  the 
extreme  sharp  sixth,  that  pupils  of  different  grades  had 
demonstrated  thereupon.  One  or  two  good  paintings,  a 
crayon  sketch,  and  a  subject  in  water-colors  bore  the 
blackboard  company,  and  a  wagon  of  cigars  and  rack  of 
pipes  on  the  mantel  bore  evidence  to  its  being  something 
more  than  the  mere  bottega  after  all. 

The  occupant  of  the  apartments,  he  who  sat  lost  in 
the  harmonies  he  was  evolving,  oblivious  of  the  fact  that 
his  friend  had  finished  his  cigar  and  "  considered  himself 
dismissed,"  was  of  a  tall,  well-built  figure,  rather  pale  as 
to  complexion,  with  short,  dark-brown  hair,  showing  a 
decided  disposition  to  curl  at  the  ends,  a  broad  forehead 
square  above  the  brows,  a  slender  nose  given  to  dilating 
at  the  nostrils,  a  mouth  of  which  little  can  be  said,  for 
it  was  nearly  concealed  by  the  long  brown  moustache,  but 
the  chin  was  square  and  firm,  and  the  head  well  poised  on 
a  column-like  throat  that,  with  all  its  strength,  was  white 
and  well  shaped  as  a  woman's.  He  played  from  score  for 


«  ROSELEJN: 


231 


a  full  hour,  carefully)  as  one  who  studies  with  an  aim 
not  only  to  retain  but  to  impart,  then  he  went  over  to 
the  blackboard,  wiped  off  the  crayon-marks,  and  wrote 
some  comprehensive  exercises  in  sequences ;  after  which, 
with  an  exclamation  of  relief,  he  repaired  to  a  small  room 
adjoining,  dressed  and  went  out. 

We  find  him  later  being  ushered  into  the  drawing-room 
of  a  Fifth  Avenue  edifice,  where,  beneath  a  chandelier 
with  its  myriad  jets,  sat  a  lady  reading.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  curious  foreign  fashion,  and  all  the  glow  of  the  gas- 
light could  reveal  no  fault  in  those  perfect  features ;  she 
was  absolutely  "a  thing  of  beauty." 

She  extended  her  hand  to  him  as  he  entered:  "Ah, 
monsieur,  you  are  kind,  and  so  punctual !  See,  I  have 
been  reading  the  notices  of  '  Alida.'  Sit  down,  will  you, 
and  tell  me,  has  '  Roselien'  fared  ill  or  well  at  the  hands  of 
the  critics  ?  I  feel  an  unaccountable  interest  in  that  little 
book,  possibly  because  some  of  my  happiest  hours  have 
passed  in  the  land  of  the  heroine ;  and  they  say  she  has 
taken  for  her  model  Giorgione's  beautiful  wife  !" 

"If  he  had  one,"  supplied  Cheston,  taking  a  chair 
near  her;  "  there  are  doubts  of  the  fact,  you  know." 

But  she  shook  her  head  with  a  quizzical  smile.  "  Indeed 
Byron  was  not  the  only  one  who  saw  her  at  the  Pitti, — I 
did  myself,  monsieur." 

"Monsieur"  bowed  and  tried  to  look  convinced. 
"Well,  let  us  have  the  critiques." 

She  read  them  one  by  one,  the  flickering  color  coming 
and  going  on  her  cheeks.  Cheston  watched  her  narrowly 
behind  his  glasses,  a  covert  smile  curling  his  lips  more 
than  once.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  as  she  finished. 

"I  should  think  that  mass  of  contradictory  opinions 
would  leave  poor  '  Roselien'  sadly  dtsoriente,  though  there 
is  a  judicious  mingling  of  the  sweet  with  the  bitter." 


232  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

"  If  she  will  accept  some  of  the  bitter  and  shape  her 
next  venture  upon  its  suggestions,  I  think  her  triumph 
will  be  assured." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked.  In  her  imperious 
sway  she  was  not  used  to  much  that  savored  of  contradic- 
tion. 

"  I  mean,  to  speak  in  your  favorite  dialect,  that '  Rose- 
lien'  wrote  '  Alida'  les  bras  croises,  as  it  were.  There  is 
none  of  the  deliberation  of  conviction  in  its  pages. - 
Pretty  and  graceful  it  is,  abounding  in  redundant  de- 
scriptions and  fanciful  theories,  but  of  thoughtful,  experi- 
mental judgment  there  is  little.  Perhaps  the  writer  has 
lived  too  easily  to  have  thought  very  deeply ;  it  may  be 
that  '  Roselien'  cannot  claim  the  poet's  countersign, — '  I 
have  suffered.'  Your  favorite  Lamartine  says,  'Man  is 
like  a  tree  that  must  be  shaken  to  make  yield  its  fruits,' 
and  you  know,  do  not  'you,  that  in  ancient  days  on  a 
certain  Grecian  island  the  cruel  people  put  out  the  eyes 
of  the  nightingales,  because,  blind,  their  notes  were  so 
much  sweeter  and  purer?  I  think  the  blind  poet  of 
Chios  had  scarcely  sung  so  divinely  had  the  seven  cities 
contended  for  his  birthplace  during  his  lifetime,  but 
roaming  from  land  to  land,  denied  entrance  through 
any  of  the  gates  that  in  a  few  short  years  were  wrangling 
for  the  coveted  honor  of  being  his  birthplace,  he  made 
his  genius  greater  than  a  kingdom,  and  became  the  arbiter 
of  thought  and  feeling,  aye,  even  impulse  itself,  in  those 
years  that  he  owned  no  resting-place  for  his  weary  feet. 
Ah,  it  is  something  to  strive  in  the  face  of  such  contend- 
ing forces,  but,  les  bras  croises,  what  can  one  expect  to 
accomplish  that  will  endure?" 

"It  is  very  amusing  to  note  the  contradictions  in  these 
critiques,"  she  said,  ignoring  his  enthusiasm,  though  it 
was  very  evidently  not  wasted  upon  her  perception  only. 


"ROSELEIN." 


233 


"  Here  is  Monsieur  Le  Gentilhomme,  who  declares  'Alida' 
to  be  free  from  the  commonplace  at  least,  with  just  suffi- 
cient depth  of  plot  to  be  interesting  without  fatiguing. 
Au  contraire,  Monsieur  Le  Bas  Bleu  deplores  the  exceed- 
ingly' commonplace  details  of  the  work,  and  denounces 
the  plot  as  deplorably  shallow,  and  the  incidents  unnatu- 
ral and  strained.  Here  is  one  who  thinks  '  no  one  will 
open  the  book  without  finishing  it,'  and  another  '  ventures 
-to  predict  a  modicum  of  the  dish  that  the  author  has 
served  quite  enough  for  any  but  the  most  ostrich-like 
digestion.'  But  of  all  there  is  none  worth  resenting 
except  this.  Were  I  'Roselein,'  this  critic  should  not 
escape  me,"  and  she  opened  a  damp  sheet  that  he  had 
not  seen  and  read  at  length  therefrom. 

"  Have  you  read  the  book?"  she  asked,  when  she  had 
finished,  turning  full  upon  him  her  flashing  dark  eyes. 
"  Then  what  do  you  think  of  a  criticism  like  that,  in 
which  incident,  to  say  nothing  of  motives,  are  so  distorted 
that  you  find  it  difficult  to  even  recognize  them  ?  Critics 
should  deal  justly  if  severely.  Here  are  sentiments  for 
which  the  author  is  made  responsible  by  the  use  of 
inverted  commas  that  could  not  be  found  in  the  length 
or  breadth  of  the  volume.  The  characters  are  made  to 
play  parts  foreign  to  the  aim  of  the  author,  and  the 
whole  motif  of  the  story  is  destroyed  by  this  false  system 
of  distortion  and  reversion.  That  I  call  malice  prepense, 
— worse,  for  enough  of  the  leading  characteristics  of 
style  and  subject  is  retained  to  mislead  the  careless 
reader,  while  the  deductions  are  wholly  unsubstantiated 
by  the  premises.  Do  you  remember  the  parson's  text  in 
Tennyson's  '  Grandmother  ?' — '  A  lie  that  is  all  a  lie  can 
be  met  with  and  fought  outright,  but  a  lie  that  is  half  a 
truth  is  a  harder  matter  to  fight.'  " 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Cheston ;  "that  critic  is 
20* 


234 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


doubtless  of  Sydney  Smith's  opinion  :  it  does  not  answer 
to  read  a  book  before  reviewing  it,  because  one  is  apt 
to  be  prejudiced  thereby.  Or  perhaps,  like  the  musical 
critic,  who,  upon  being  hauled  over  the  coals  the  other 
day  for  finding  so  much  fault  with  singers  and  composers, 
major  and  minor,  answered,  '  Well,  sir,  what  ami  to  do? 
they  don't  consider  a  critique  worth  reading  if  some  one 
isn't  picked  to  pieces:  we  critics  can't  exercise  justice  and 
enjoy  popularity  and  good  pay  at  the  same  time.' ' 

"Eh  bien /"  she  said,  sweeping  the  papers  aside  with 
an  impatient  gesture,  "to  those  who  write  les  bras  croises 
it  should  not  matter,  but  to  those  who  bind  up  the  hopes, 
the  aspirations,  and  the  work  of  years  with  the  leaves  of 
their  book  it  seems  a  cruel  shame  that  a  hasty,  ill-judged 
pen  should  blast  them  all  with  a  single  stroke." 

The  gentleman  adjusted  his  glasses  and  looked  with 
tolerant  amusement  at  the  indignant  face  with  its  impe- 
rious eyes.  Such  eyes  !  dark  and  deep  as  mountain  tarns 
and  troubled  to-night,  just  as  the  tarns  might  be  under 
the  sudden  lashing  of  a  summer  gust.  Surely  there  was 
nothing  that  had  power  to  disturb  them  long.  The  brow 
above  them  was  too  unshadowed  to  have  known  aught  of 
trouble  or  care,  the  arch  curve  of  the  lips  altogether  too 
unbroken  and  joyous. 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  the  critics,"  he  said;  "lit- 
erature is  a  business  like  anything  else.  The  tradesman 
has  no  right  to  blame  a  public  that  will  not  patronize 
him." 

"  Ah,  but  if  the  public  traduce  and  misname  his  wares, 
what  then?  Criticism  that  is  fair  should  profit  one.  Do 
you  think  I  should  care  aught  for  that  if  I  were  '  Rose- 
lein'?"  And  she  read,  "Such  stories  as  'Alida'  are 
false  in  sentiment,  dismal  in  themselves,  and  utterly  with- 
out excuse  for  being." — "  Not  a  whit !  But  it  is  the  wilful 


ROSELEIN." 


235 


misrepresentation  and  distortion  of  motives  and  theories 
that  a  conscientious  writer  resents  more  than  the  severest 
judgment." 

"  Ah,  my  lady  '  Roselein,'  the  critics  should  hear  your 
vindication  of  '  Alida  !"  Then  he  laughed  at  her  confu- 
sion, for  the  brilliant  shifting  color  told  him  that  he  had 
guessed  her  secret.  "Your  indignant  ardor  betrayed 
you,"  he  said. 

"  No,  it  was  your  curiosity  did  that." 

"Well,  what's  against  it?  We  have  Dr.  Johnson's 
leave  to  be  curious  ;  does  not  he  dignify  it  by  the  distin- 
guishing epithet  '  thirst  of  the  soul'  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  if  my  memory  does  not  play  me  false,  he 
further  adds  that  we  taste  every  draught  with  delight,  no 
matter  how  insipid,  by  which  that  thirst  may  be  allayed. 
Yes,  I  wrote  it,  I  will  admit,  as  Byron  did  his  '  Corsair,'  con 
amore,  and  very  much  from  existence,  and  yet  M.  Le  Bas 
Bleu  regrets  that  it  is  not  true  to  life,  while  my  critic  who 
denounces  it  tout  d  fait  says  '  such  messes  are  rarely  to 
be  met  with  outside  the  novelist's  cook-shop.'  Too  bad, 
isn't  it,  when  all  my  best  scenes  are  from  life?  and  if 
there  is  a  fault,  to  my  mind,  in  the  whole  book,  it  is  that 
I  have  drawn  too  slightly  upon  my  imaginative  powers." 

"  I  had  a  sailor  uncle,  dead  long  years  ago,"  said  Ches- 
ton,  "  who  had  lived  through  a  dozen  ordinary  lifetimes, 
counting  lives  by  adventures.  He  could  tell  of  marvel- 
lous phenomena  witnessed  in  Southern  seas  under  the 
white  fires  of  the  Ship  and  the  Crown.  In  the  latter  days 
of  his  life  he  became  a  contributor  to  several  periodicals, 
and  I  once  heard  him  say  that  the  narratives  containing 
his  actual  experiences  were  often  politely  declined  on 
account  of  their  improbability,  while  his  ideal  sketches 
sold  best.  Nothing  seems  so  strange,  so  unreasonable 
to  me  as  the  incredulity  of  the  world  on  subjects  of  this 


236  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

nature,  when  not  one  of  us  but  carries  in  his  life  hidden 
mysteries  that  would  put  to  the  blush  the  wildest  romance. 
I  suppose  it  is  upon  the  same  principle  that  Turner's  sub- 
jects are  found  fault  with  so  often.  He  dares  to  put  the 
bright  blue  and  gold  of  the  sky,  the  crimson  of  the  sunset, 
the  emerald  green  of  the  grass  upon  his  canvas  in  the 
colors  of  nature  ;  they  hurt  the  eye  brought  so  directly 
within  its  range  of  vision,  gathered  in  so  small  a  com- 
pass. So  we  do  not  enjoy  our  private  follies,  our  stupid 
blunders,  or  our  heart's  best  feelings,  so  mercilessly  scru- 
tinized and  analyzed  and  held  up  to  public  view.  For 
we  are  sure  to  find  some  one  en  rapport  with  our  ex- 
periences. It  is  humiliating  when  we  consider  that  no 
new  phase  of  fact  or  feeling  is  left  us  to  work  upon. 
All  the  ground  has  been  beaten  before  us  by  somebody 
else." 

She  turned  her  arch  face  upon  him,  dauntless  and 
laughing.  "  Nothing  new  in  fact  or  feeling,  but  much  in 
deed  and  disclosure,"  she  said,  in  her  high  silvery  voice, 
in  which  mockery  was  predominant  now;  "for  the 
Pythian  cave  is  turned  into  a  cow-house,  and  the  Bar- 
berini  cameo  dissolved  into  blue  and  white  glass.  Fancy 
the  feelings  of  the  antiquarians  and  archaeologists.  One 
can  never  appreciate  his  own  blessings  until  he  com- 
pares them  with  those  of  others  more  unfortunate.  I  was 
silly  enough  to  suppose  that,  because  I  had  seen  sheep 
grazing  on  the  tombs  of  ^Esietes  and  Antilochus,  and 
bowed  to  the  Shadow  of  the  Brocken,  that  the  world 
might  like  to  hear  of  it.  That  episode  with  the  Way- 
node  in  the  Mussulman's  house,  with  its  painted  ceilings 
and  wainscoting,  particularly  pounced  upon  by  the  critics 
as  too  altogether  improbable  for  credence,  actually  hap- 
pened tome.  See,  I  have  these  beads  for  a  souvenir  of  my 
visit."  She  reached  out  her  hand  to  an  etagere  near. 


^ROSELEIN." 


237 


"  Here  they  are,  ninety-nine  in  all ;  a  rosary,  we  would 
say  here,  but  in  the  East  they  call  it  a  comboloio.  And  I 
came  near  losing  my  life  that  day.  It  was  curiosity  that 
tempted  me  to  venture  in.  'Thirst  of  the  soul?'  not  a 
bit  of  it, — a  sheer  sense  of  delight  in  prying  into  the  for- 
bidden,— my  inheritance  from  our  first  mother,  which  I 
must  admit,  bongre  malgr'e.  Had  it  not  been  for  that 
benevolent  Waynode,  I  should  have  been  a  sacrifice 
to  the  Giaours  long  ago  instead  of  sitting  here  to  tell 
the  tale.  He  piloted  me  out  safely,  but,  like  Gladys,  '  I 
had  seen  the  island,'  which  is  to  say  the  seraglio." 

"  And  did  you  flirt  with  the  Waynode,  as  '  Alida'  did, 
and  leave  him  with  a  pang  in  his  Giaour  breast  because  '  a 
dog  of  a  Christian's  daughter  was  so  fair'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  that  was  imaginative  entirely,  and  my 
Waynode — 'Alida's,'  I  mean — was  intensely  idealized. 
The  original  was  a  very  ugly  yellow  old  fellow." 

"  But  your  heorine  is  a  little  vain?" 

"What  would  you  expect,  sir,  considering  she  is  a 
woman  ?  I  always  suspect  a  woman  who  disavows  a  taste 
for  dress  and  those  necessary  adjuncts  that  add  so  to  my 
sex's  charms.  Talk  of  beauty  unadorned  !  the  dictum 
is  threadbare.  There  are  some  women  so  well  endowed 
by  nature  that  they  need  little  aid  from  art,  but  that  little 
is  very  necessary,  and  there  are  some  reigning  queens  of 
beauty  in  the  drawing-rooms  who  would  positively  give 
you  a  scare  at  dejeuner. ' ' 

"  There  you  have  the  advantage  of  us." 

"  And  I  have  no  doubt  you  envy  us  it  very  heartily.  Isn't 
it  Suetonius  who  tells  us  that  there  was  no  honor  conferred 
upon  Julius  Caesar  which  he  seized  so  eagerly  as  his  crown 
of  laurel  leaves, — not  because  it  was  dear  to  his  ambition 
as  an  emblem  of  his  civic  triumphs,  but  because  it  would 
cover  the  baldness  of  his  cranium?  And  what  a  vain  old 


238 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


fellow  he  was  with  his  'vent,  vidi,  vici?  and  his  '  fear  not, 
you  carry  Caesar!'  though  he  had  quite  enough  to  make 
him  conceited,  I  grant  you.  Oh,  the  world  stands  still 
in  individual  characteristics,  though  it  undoubtedly  moves 
in  Galileo's  sense.  It  is  refreshing  to  read,  in  this  age  of 
progress,  when  the  hue  and  cry  is  so  deafening  against  the 
follies  and  vanities  of  women,  how  that  old  Florentine, 
Agnolo,  four  hundred  years  ago,  made  his  silly  wife  cry 
because  he  took  from  her  her  powders  and  cosmetics  and 
locked  them  up  in  one  of  his  big  painted  cassoni ;  while 
the  poor  little  goose  was  forced  to  carry  a  sallow  com- 
plexion to  confront  the  raillery  of  the  donnas.  Sir  Agnolo 
is  dead  four  hundred  years  ago,  but  we  still  have  our 
powders  and  cosmetics,  our  creme  (Fla  Imperatrice,  and 
almond  paste." 

"  Not  you  !"  He  was  moved  to  the  exclamation  out 
of  sheer  wonder. 

She  lifted  her  mocking  wild-rose  face  and  let  the  golden 
rays  from  the  chandelier  bathe  its  every  feature  with  light. 

"I?  oh  no,  not  yet.  I  have  no  need,  but  sooner  or 
later  I  shall,  of  course,  only  my  Sir  Agnolo  shall  not  need 
to  storm  and  exercise  his  authority,  and  jingle  the  keys 
of  his  big  cassoni,  because  I  shall  do  it  judiciously  and  d 
huis  clos  /"  Then  she  went  over  to  the  piano  and  struck 
the  opening  chords  of  one  of  Schumann's  most  exquisite 
melodies : 

"  Rosebud  fair !  Rosebud  fair ! 
Can  it  be  that  thorns  there  are?" 

The  gay  mocking  voice  carolled  with  the  free  joyous 
melody  of  the  lark  escaping  in  the  early  dawn  from  the 
dark  shadows  of  earth  to  the  fair  pearly  tint  of  the  summer 
sky. 


"ROSELEIN."  239 

"  Sleeping  by  a  shady  stream, 
Dreaming  once  a  happy  dream, 
On  a  summer's  morn  of  gold 
A  thornless  rose  I  saw  unfold, 
And  I  plucked  and  held  it  close, 
Sweet,  loving,  thornless  rose." 

Now  a  nightingale  seemed   singing  in  the  dark,  for  the 
strains  had  grown  low  and  plaintive : 

"  I  awoke  and  gazed  around  : 
Where  was  then  the  rose  I  found  ? 
Saw,  indeed,  the  roses  there, 
Only  thornless  none  there  were. 
And  the  streamlet  at  me  smiled, 
Be  not  by  such  thoughts  beguiled ; 
Mark  it  well,  oh,  youth  forlorn, 
Ne'er  was  rose  without  a  thorn, 
Without  a  thorn!" 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

"HONI    SOIT   QUI    MAL   Y    PENSE." 

"  I  worked  with  patience,  which  means  almost  power." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

WHEN  Doctor  Duncan  came  home  from  his  ramblings 
in  the  Old  World,  nearly  three  years  after  parting  with 
Amy,  he  went  back  to  his  old  work  in  Baltimore.  The 
house  in  the  square  was  shut  up,  and  his  sister  Helen  could 
give  him  little  information  concerning  Mr.  Cheswick's 
intentions.  "I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised,"  she  said, 
"  if  it  ended  in  their  settling  at  Cheswick  again." 

Foreign  air  and  scenery  had  not  exerted  the  beneficial 
effect  that  his  friends  had  hoped  for,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  he  could  bring  himself  to  admit  that  the  old  active 
life  must  be  given  up,  and  further  measures  used  to  entice 
back  the  health  that  seemed  slowly  but  surely  escaping 
him.  He  made  another  trip  across  the  sea  and  joined  his 
uncle  and  "Julee,"  as  he  had  done  before.  Together 
they  came  back  to  the  States,  and  he  was  made  by  their 
urgent  request  a  member  of  the  family.  He  was  stronger, 
in  every  way  improved,  but  the  old  suffocating  sensation 
returned  at  times,  and  he  knew  that  he  needed  to  be  care- 
ful of  himself  if  he  would  escape  his  inheritance  of  what 
"Julee"  had  once  lightly  said  to  Amy  was  the  taint  in 
their  blood, — a  predisposition  to  troubles  of  the  heart. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  New  York  when  he  was  at- 
tracted by  the  organist  at  St.  Aloysius's,  both  on  account 
of  his  music  and  because  the  physique  of  the  man  in- 
240 


"HONI  SOIT  QUI  MAL    Y  PENSE."  241 

terested  him.  Hunting  him  out  he  found  him  occupy- 
ing apartments  in  the  city  and  teaching  music  to  a  class 
of  young  men  and  women  who  were  glad  to  avail  them- 
selves of  prices  less  formidable  than  customary.  With 
the  kindliness  of  his  nature,  Doctor  Duncan  sought  to  be  of 
use  to  this  stranger,  discerning  the  breeding  and  bearing 
of  a  gentleman  in  his  manner  and  person,  and  commis- 
erating the  loneliness  of  his  situation,  for  of  friends  or 
companions  he  had  none.  Soon  there  began  to  exist  a 
warm  personal  attachment  between  the  two,  for  Cheston, 
always  reserved  to  strangers,  relented  to  this  genial  doc- 
tor, who  seemed  himself  in  need  of  companionship.  The 
teacher's  musical  talents  and  capacities  afforded  Doctor 
Duncan  constant  recreation,  for,  educated  but  in  one  sense 
to  music,  he  still  enjoyed  it  comprehensively,  as  a  con- 
noisseur, without  deferring  to  his  palate,  can  be  trusted  to 
detect  the  genuineness  of  the  brands  on  his  wines.  He 
had  read  the  lives  of  the  masters,  he  had  heard  the  finest 
music  of  his  time  ;  he  had  sat  enraptured  under  Liszt,  and 
had  come  from  Bayreuth  in  disgust  that  "  the  music  of  the 
future"  should  charm  him  so  little.  He  was  a  cultivated, 
appreciative  listener,  and  could  have  detected  a  false  mod- 
ulation with  the  quickness  of  a  professor,  though  he  could 
not  have  made  a  correct  one  in  a  single  key  if  his  life  had 
been  at  stake.  And  he  supplied  to  Cheston  the  lack 
which  is  the  saddest  a  man's  life  can  know. 

For  years  this  tall,  pale,  broad-shouldered  music-teacher 
had  worked  alone,  always  with  indomitable  perseverance, 
determination,  and  zeal,  but  alone.  Not  a  single  voice  in 
all  the  hurrying,  bustling  city  to  say  to  him,  "  How  are 
you?  I  am  glad  to  see  you."  Not  a  single  threshold 
in  all  that  babel  of  streets  and  thoroughfares  that  he  was 
free  to  cross  with  the  familiar  step  of  one  who  is  expected 
within,  and  for  whom  a  welcome  awaits.  Some  years 

21 


242  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

back  he  had  come  to  this  great  city,  friendless,  unknown, 
with  a  very  scant  purse,  and  nothing  to  depend  upon  but 
his  own  steady  determination  to  win.  It  had  been  slow 
work,  step  by  step,  one  rung  after  the  other  of  the  long 
ladder  to  climb,  and  even  now  he  was  not  near  the  top. 
Hope  sank  very  low  in  his  breast  often  ;  discouragements 
prevailed,  and  fatigue  and  even  want.  Aye,  he  had  known 
what  it  was  to  go  to  bed  hungry,  hurrying  by  the  bakeries, 
because  he  dared  not  tempt  his  hungry  pangs  with  a 
glance  at  the  array  of  rolls  and  loaves  and  cakes, — enough 
to  feed  a  multitude,  but  none  for  him,  because  there  was 
not  one  penny  to  make  music  against  another  in  his  empty 
pockets.  Step  by  step,  from  errand  lad  in  a  huge  piano- 
factory  to  pumice-polisher,  until  one  day,  forgetting  him- 
self, and  beguiled  into  the  indulgence  by  the  silence  of 
the  show-room  and  the  splendor  of  the  instrument,  but 
just  set  upon  its  legs,  he  let  his  fingers  loose  upon  the 
key-board,  and  forgot  his  loneliness  and  his  poverty  in 
the  glad  free  strains  that  filled  the  great  hall,  in  which 
was  no  memory  of  hunger,  of  pain  or  bitter  want,  but 
ineffable  delight  and  freedom  and  companionship  with 
all  that  was  holy  and  high.  He  sat  in  a  magic  circle  : 
the  great  harp-shaped  thing  of  wood  and  iron  and  wire 
and  pearl  seemed  possessed  with  a  spirit  of  flesh  and 
blood.  It  writhed  and  shrieked  and  wailed  defiance  of 
the  prison-house  that  bound  it,  wailed  and  shrieked  until, 
as  when  exhausted,  resignation  came  to  its  aid,  and  after 
a  season  hope,  anon  peace,  and  in  a  grand  climax  of  har- 
mony there  was  to  be  read  the  subdued  soul's  Teachings 
after  something  better  and  purer  and  more  enduring  than 
anything  earth  has  to  give  ! 

But  the  pianos,  the  organs  and  melodeons  of  the  show- 
room had  not  been  the  only  auditors  of  the  pumice-polish- 
er's recital.  A  young  lady  with  a  wild-rose  complexion 


"HONI  SO  IT  QUI  MAL    Y  PENSE."  243 

and  the  proudest  of  bright  eyes  had  stood  near,  screened 
by  organ-pipes,  and  had  heard  the  whole  wonderful  per- 
formance. "  He  is  the  very  man  we  want,"  she  said  to 
her  father,  when  later  she  recounted  her  adventure. 
"You  must  engage  him  at  once;  why,  the  creature  has 
genius !" 

So  it  happened  that  the  parishioners  at  St.  Aloysius's 
were  electrified  next  Sabbath  at  the  strains  that  greeted 
them  from  the  organ-loft.  That  was  the  first  reward  of 
his  patient  labor.  Mr.  Vosburgh,  the  German  banker 
on  Wall  Street,  instigated  by  his  daughter,  went  to  the 
new  organist  and  inquired  if  he  could  do  anything  for 
him  before  he  left  on  his  biennial  tour  to  Europe.  And 
then  it  was  that  Cheston  fumbled  in  his  inner  vest-pocket 
for  the  only  reference  he  possessed,  handing  it  to  the 
merchant-prince  with  a  sort  of  trepidation  in  the  eyes, 
well  veiled  by  the  tinted  violet  glasses. 

"  I  should  like  to  get  a  class  in  music,  sir,  so  that  I 
might  stop  work  in  the  factory.  If  you  could  suggest  the 
names  of  those  who  would  be  likely  to  care  for  instruction, 
I  should  be  very  grateful." 

"Bless  me!  this  is  dated  years  back!  Why  did  you 
not  bring  it  straight  to  me  when  you  first  came  here? 
Any  one  could  have  directed  you  to  Vosburgh  on  Wall 
Street.  And  only  a  month  ago  I  needed  a  clerk.  Well, 
I  can't  do  anything  of  that  sort  now.  But  I  can  put  you 
in  the  way  of  a  class;  only  you  can't  get  professors' 
prices  unless  you  can  show  your  Leipzic  diploma." 

So  that  had  come  about  also,  and  there  Cheston  had 
stood  for  a  while,  neither  advancing  nor  receding,  working 
no  more  patiently  nor  faithfully  than  he  had  worked  at 
the  piano-factory,  but  with  much  more  delight  and  con- 
geniality in  his  labor.  The  remuneration  he  derived  from 
his  class,  and  his  organist's  salary,  to  which  was  added  on 


244 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


alternate  Sabbaths  his  post  as  tenor  in  a  West  End  choir, 
whose  leader  had  been  attracted  by  the  rare  tone  and 
timbre  of  his  voice,  enabled  him  to  live  at  least  in  com- 
fort, with  no  carping  care  where  the  next  meal  was  to 
come  from  or  the  wherewithals  to  renew  his  constantly 
recurring  needs. 

Doctor  Duncan  and  the  music-master  became  fast  friends. 
They  went  out  much  together,  for  as  Cheston's  resources 
increased  he  did  not  deny  himself  any  opportunity  that 
he  could  consistently  use  for  furthering  his  experience  and 
improvement  in  the  profession  he  had  chosen  to  adopt. 

"You  will  make  your  mark  on  the  age,  Cheston," 
Doctor  Duncan  had  said,  not  many  weeks  before,  when,  at 
a  concert  at  Chickering  Hall,  the  music-teacher  who  could 
boast  of  no  Conservatory  prize  astonished  his  audience 
with  the  proficiency  of  his  class.  Critical  and  musical 
New  York  was  forced  to  notice  the  persistent  though 
gradual  success  of  the  stranger.  But  nothing  as  yet  had 
come  of  it  all,  except  that  Doctor  Duncan  had  ventured 
to  take  him  to  see  his  cousin  "Julee,"  who,  fresh 
home  from  Europe,  with  innumerable  cases  of  Worth's 
costumes,  and  the  wafted  odor  of  conquests  and  refused 
titles  attending  her  every  foot-fall,  was  at  present  the 
fashion  in  the  city  of  the  Knickerbockers.  "  Julee"  ex- 
tended to  him  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  at  once,  for 
she  had  made  a  venture  of  her  own,  the  sly  young  crea- 
ture, and  who  will  say  that  a  fellow-feeling  does  not  make 
us  wondrous  kind?  Besides,  did  not  she  recognize  in 
him  the  factory-man  for  whom  she  had  secured  the  organ- 
ist's stool  at  St.  Aloysius's,  and  what  woman  ever  ceases 
to  feel  kindly  toward  one  whom  she  has  served,  the  latent 
possibility  of  further  service  warming  her  interest  toward 
him  ?  And,  away  back  of  that,  were  those  clairvoyant 
eyes  of  "Juice's"  deceived  by  the  dark  brown  of  the 


"HONI  SOIT  QUI  MAL    Y  PENSE."  245 

close-cut  locks,  the  moustache-hidden  mouth,  the  violet- 
tinted  spectacles,  or  the  changes  that  the  years  might 
make  in  a  man's  face  and  figure?  Not  in  the  least. 

When  he  returned  the  clasp  of  that  kind  little  hand, 
and  looked  into  those  lamp-like  flashing  eyes,  demanding 
imperiously,  as  of  yore,  the  choicest  and  the  rarest  of 
life's  vin  mousseux,  did  he  even  faintly  imagine  that  she 
was  saying  in  that  audacious  young  heart  of  hers, — 

"  Ah,  my  hero  of  the  Tristia,  have  you  come  to  take 
amends  for  your  stolen  volume?  But  why  do  you  hide 
your  handsome  eyes  behind  lunettes,  and  color  your  hair 
genista-brown?" 

He  did  not  indeed,  for  then  would  "Julee,"  with 
her  lovely  arch  face  and  exquisite  figure,  always  draped  in 
the  most  ravishing  of  Parisian  costumes,  have  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  lion  in  his  path. 

When  it  was  a  fully  recognized  fact  that  Miss  Vos- 
burgh  was  affable  to  the  organist  of  St.  Aloysius's,  the 

quondam  pumice-polisher  in  S 's  piano-factory,  then 

indeed  society  found  it  high  time  to  remonstrate.  It  was 
enough  that  Doctor  Duncan,  descended  on  the  distaff  side 
from  that  sturdy  old  stock  that  had  made  Plymouth  his- 
torical, and  able  to  count  his  ancestors  with  tolerable  ex- 
actness from  at  least  the  landing  of  the  "  Mayflower," — 
it  was  enough  that  he  should  pander  to  the  dilettante 
tastes  of  this  too-aspiring  young  man  and  tempt  him  into 
rising  above  his  level ;  but  that  Miss  Vosburgh,  always 
the  haughtiest  young  aristocrat  in  the  city,  whose  foreign 
blood  and  ancestry  and  foreign  experience  gave  her  a  cer- 
tain right  to  queen  it  over  the  circle  she  led  when  "at 
home,"  that  Miss  Vosburgh,  who,  it  was  not  to  be  denied, 
presumed  somewhat  upon  her  inherited  supremacy  of 
intellect  that  in  centuries  past  had  given  to  her  mother's 
land  the  renaissance  of  art  and  literature,  that  she  should 

21* 


246  Iff  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

smile  upon  this  nameless  person,  and,  in  her  audacious, 
dauntless  style,  even  force  those  of  her  class  to  receive  him 
as  an  equal,  was  quite  too  much  to  endure.  For  it  had 
come  to  pass  that  Miss  Vosburgh  had  given  a  musicale,  in 
which  Cheston  bore  the  lion's  share  as  musician  and  guest ; 
in  which  she  had  leaned  on  his  arm  down  the  length  of 
her  father's  drawing-room  and  presented  him  individually 
to  all  the  celebres  of  the  evening. 

If  society  had  known  how  blase  already  of  its  scant 
politeness  was  this  stranger  in  the  few  times  he  had  met 
it,  how  entirely  indifferent  to  its  verdict,  it  would  have 
made  no  difference,  except  in  the  nature  of  its  comment, 
for  then  indeed  would  Gotham  have  found  it  hard  to 
realize  the  ingratitude  and  heresy  of  such  sentiments. 
But  he  did  not  know,  this  hard-working,  patient  music- 
teacher,  as  he  demonstrated  "discords  by  suspension" 
and  cadences  in  major  and  minor  modes,  and  wrote  T.  S. 
after  passages  for  refractory  scholars,  and  sat  late  into 
the  "  wee  sma'  "  hours,  figuring  score  and  evolving  har- 
monies in  his  brain.  And  if  he  had  known,  would  not 
he  have  smiled  with  fine  scorn,  that  he  in  whose  veins  ran 
the  blood  of  heroes  and  cavaliers  should  be  subjected  to 
such  comment  as  this?  Though,  in  sober  second  thought, 
would  not  he  have  excused  the  defensive  position  of  Mrs. 
Grundy,  seeing  that  to  her  he  was  but  the  unknown  music- 
master,  the  whilom  errand-boy  at  S 's  factory,  and 

have  gone  back  to  his  work,  only  thankful  that  he  found 
safe  footing  on  this  brink  of  a  perilous  precipice? 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

AN    INVITATION. 

"  It  must  be  allowed  that  as  a  man  you  are  highly  respectable  1" 

HANS  ANDERSEN. 

Miss  VOSBURGH  sat  in  her  morning-room,  with  her 
writing-desk  in  her  lap, — a  square  little  contrivance  of 
ebony  and  gold  with  many  curious  compartments.  On  a 
table  at  her  elbow  lay  a  number  of  promiscuous  sheets, 
very  much  resembling  orchestra  score ;  and  to  these  Miss 
Vosburgh  referred  from  time  to  time,  humming  the  bass 
in  a  musical  undertone,  and  beating  the  time  with  her 
pencil  on  her  smooth  white  forehead.  There  was  nothing 
of  the  professional  writer  about  "  Julee."  You  might 
see  at  a  glance  that  her  work  was  done,  as  Cheston 
had  suspected,  "  with  folded  hands."  She  lay  back  in  a 
deep  crimson  chair,  with  her  desk  on  her  knee,  and  scrib- 
bled with  a  gum-topped  pencil,  her  pretty  fingers  thereby 
escaping  the  corroding  influences  of  ink-stains,  though,  if 
scientists  are  not  mistaken,  she  ran  frequent  risk  of  being 
poisoned  from  the  recklessness  with  which  she  applied  the 
refractory  metallic  tip  to  her  pretty  red  lips.  Miss  Vos- 
burgh boasted  that  she  only  wrote  when  the  "afflatus" 
was  upon  her.  She  knew  nothing  from  experience  of  long 
dark  days  in  which  benumbed  fingers  indited  passage  after 
passage  strained  from  an  utterly  benumbed  imagination  ; 
nothing  at  all  of  the  polite  "respectfully  declined"  that 
attend  so  many  luckless  manuscripts  on  their  homeward 
flight.  For  in  this  venture,  as  in  every  one  of  her  bright 

247 


248  Iff  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

young  life,  she  had  found  the  most  inspiring  encourage- 
ment and  success.  No  sooner  was  it  an  established  fact 
that  the  banker's  daughter  was  the  author  of  "  Alida,"  than 
the  graceful  translations,  the  pungent  and  witty  essays, 
the  fanciful  foreign  sketches  found  a  wide  and  ready 
market. 

It  is  true  that  she  had  found  the  roses  of  the  literati  not 
altogether  thornless,  but  what  need  to  grasp  the  thorns  ? 
How  could  they  sting  if  one  handled  them  cautiously? 
Nay,  she  had  seen  thorns  put  to  pretty  uses  before 
now,  as  observe  the  basket  on  her  boudoir  table,  made  of 
thorns,  long,  dark-brown,  and  glossy,  with  each  cruel 
point  crowned  by  a  scarlet  bead. 

After  some  hours  of  meditative  scribbling  the  scores 
were  pushed  aside,  the  desk  transferred  to  the  table,  and 
"Julee,"  sinking  back  into  the  depths  of  her  crimson 
chair,  allowed  herself  to  lapse  into  the  fairy  realm  of 
dreamland.  As  she  lay  there  what  a  picture  she  made  of 
ease  and  beauty  and  "  fair  fulfilled  prophecies!"  What 
a  smooth  triumphant  thing  was  life  to  this  girl,  with  her 
imperious  shining  eyes,  her  warm  impulses,  and  her  fine 
aesthetic  tastes  !  But  her  dreams  were  waking  ones  after 
all,  for  as  the  portiere  was  swept  aside  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  looked  up  with  a  smile  at  the  intruder. 

"  Mrs.  Herndon  !  you  were  kind  to  come  so  soon ; 
take  that  easy-chair." 

"And  what  did  you  want  with  me,  Julia!  I  have 
scarcely  a  moment  of  my  own  nowadays.  Child,  how  well 
you  look  !" 

"The  usual  reward  fashion  offers  her  votaries,"  said 
Julia,  answering,  it  is  needless  to  inform  you,  the  second 
clause  of  her  friend's  speech.  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of 
you." 

"And  I  a  lecture  to  deliver." 


AN  INVITATION. 


249 


"Eh  bien  !  I  shall  make  my  request  first.  Will  you 
invite  a  friend  of  mine  to  your  musicale  next  week  ?" 

"  His  name,  my  dear  Julia  ?" 

"  Ah,  but  I  want  carte  blanche  to  bring  whom  I 
choose." 

"It  is  the  organist  of  St.  Aloysius's?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  it  was  of  him  I  wished  to  speak  to  you.  Do 
you  know,  Julia,  that  all  New  York  begins  to  couple  your 
names  ?  Of  what  is  your  papa  thinking  to  allow  such  a 
thing?" 

"  Papa  has  always  conceded  to  me  my  right  to  choose 
my  own  associates." 

"  But  of  him  you  know  absolutely  nothing." 

"Except  that  he  is  a  gentleman  and  Douglass's  best 
friend." 

"  But,  Julia,  you  are  seen  together  everywhere, — in  the 
Park,  at  the  Academy, — everywhere  but  in  society :  that 
looks  wrong." 

"It  is  for  you  to  remove  that  last  stricture  and  make  it 
look  right." 

"  I  would  do  much  for  you,  Julia,  but  scarcely  that." 

Julia  laughed,  making  a  supreme  effort  to  command  her 
rising  anger,  for  Mrs.  Herndon  was  a  dear  friend  of  her 
dead  mother,  and  a  woman  for  whom  she  entertained  a 
sincere  affection.  "Ah,  well,  no  matter.  I  overrated 
your  independence,  that  is  all ;  but  I  thought  you  stood 
on  too  firm  a  base  to  fear  the  petty  jostlings  of  society. 
No  doubt  you  are  wiser  to  wait  until  he  grows  famous  and 
the  fashion,  like  Raymond,  the  artist,  and  Dubbins,  the 
author,  though  we  all  know  who  their  grandfathers  were, 
and  that  Dubbins's  father  was  a  small  grocer  on  Sloman 
Street  only  a  very  few  years  ago.  I  was  foolish  to  sup- 
pose that  Mr.  Cheston,  a  polished  gentleman,  a  genius, 


250 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


and  the  most  conscientious  worker  .1  ever  knew,  could 
retrieve,  in  the  eyes  of  society,  the  faux  pas  of  having 
polished  piano-cases  in  S 's  factory." 

"You  are  severe,  Julia."  The  lady  looked  uncomfort- 
able under  the  sarcasm  of  those  high  silvery  tones.  "  Mr. 
Cheston  may  be  a  gentleman, — I  am  quite  willing  to  be- 
lieve that  he  is, — but,  all  the  same,  he  is  outside  the  pale 
of  our  world,  and  I  fancied  you  were  an  ardent  disciple 
of  the  law  of  noblesse  oblige." 

"Youare  right," — "Juice's"  eyes  flashed, — "and  in 
my  friend  whom  you  refuse  to  patronize  I  offer  a  superb 
interpretation  of  that  much-abused  term  'noblesse.'  But 

you  are  wiser  to  wait." 

********* 

Late  in  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  Doctor  Duncan 
opened  the  door  of  his  friend's  apartments  and  went  over 
to  where  in  the  dim  twilight  he  sat,  like  Jamblicus  of  old, 
evoking  gods  of  peace  from  the  clear  rippling  waters 
of  melody.  The  music  ceased  with  a  crash.  The  organ- 
ist renewed  his  glasses,  which  had  been  lying  on  the 
ledge,  and  looked  up  into  his  friend's  face  inquiringly. 

"Strange  things  happen,"  said  Duncan,  in  the  tone 
of  one  who  soliloquizes,  and  as  he  spoke  he  felt  in  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  where  lay  a  little  white  letter 
that  the  Southern  mail  had  brought  him.  "  Strange 
things  happen,  though  this,  no  doubt,  will  be  a  realism 
to  you,"  and  he  drew  from  the  same  pocket  a  broad, 
silver-edged  envelope, — "an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Hern- 
don's  musicale  for  Wednesday  evening.  Now,  how  fares 
your  prophecy  ? — 

" '  In  the  dust  lies  genius  and  glory, 
Only  every-day  talent  will  pay.' 

.1  tell  you  genius  is  going  to  enjoy  an  apotheosis  if  Mrs. 


AN  INVITATION. 


251 


Herndon  takes  you  in  hand :  she  never  does  things  by 
halves." 

"  And  she  is  Miss  Vosburgh's  best  friend,  I  think  I 
have  heard  you  say?"  There  was  a  pecular  smile  in  the 
eyes  of  the  quondam  "polisher"  that  did  not  bode  well 
for  the  acceptance  of  the  invitation. 

When  his  friend  left  he  turned  on  the  gas.  At  his  feet 
lay  a  little  white  envelope;  he  stooped  for  it  and  read  the 
address:  "  Doctor  Douglass  Duncan."  Evidently  the  doc- 
tor had  dropped  it  when  he  drew  Mrs.  Herndon's  invita- 
tion from  his  inner  pocket.  He  would  put  it  by  and  give  it 
to  him  in  the  morning  ;  but  he  sat  a  full  hour,  motionless, 
with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  when  he  went  over  to  his 
chamber  to  dress  for  an  engagement,  his  white  face  in  the 

glass  gave  him  a  shock. 

********* 

"Julia,"  said  her  cousin,  late  that  night,  intercepting 
her  on  her  way  from  the  carriage  to  her  dressing-room, 
"I  have  heard  from  your  friend,  Miss  Randolph." 

"Juice's"  bright  face  looked  somewhat  weary,  for  she 
had  undergone  a  fatiguing  ordeal  that  evening,  celebre 
as  she  was  and  wildly  coveted  for  every  entertainment. 
But  it  flashed  a  beaming  glance  upon  him,  and  she  stopped 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  with  eager  questioning  written 
upon  each  expressive  feature. 

"You  have?  Oh,  'Dug,'  I  am  very  glad!  Where  is 
she?" 

"In  Baltimore." 

"And  she  wrote  toyou?" 

"Yes;  you  know  we  were  excellent  friends,"  with  a 
quick  sigh  that  did  not  escape  her  keen  ear,  "and  I 
undertook — a — little  matter  of  business  for  her.  She 
wrote  to  consult  with  me  about  it." 

"How  funny!  Won't  you  give  me  her  address,  'Dug'?" 


252 


IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 


"Dug"  searched  vainly  for  the  letter  in  the  inner 
pocket  of  his  dress-coat,  where  he  had  fancied  it  lay  all 
evening,  making  his  heart  warmer  and  lighter  in  conse- 
quence. 

"  I  must  have  dropped   it  when  I  took  Cheston  his 

mail,"  he  said.     "  I'll  go  see  in  the  morning." 

********* 

"Julia,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Herndon,  when  she  gained 
the  boudoir  of  her  young  friend  next  day,  half  laughing, 
and  a  little  breathless  from  the  flight  of  stairs  encountered, 
' '  this  is  your  doing  !" 

"  This"  was  a  note  of  thanks  and  regrets  from  Mr. 
Cheston,  faultlessly  worded,  but  bearing  on  its  very  face  a 
chill  protest  against  patronage,  forced  or  condescending. 

"  Why,  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  invited  him  !" 
disclaimed  Julia,  the  rich  color  riotous  in  her  cheeks. 
"  But  he  has  the  intuition  of  a  woman,  and  is  the  proudest 
man  I  know ;  besides,  when  I  come  to  consider  it,  he 
would  scarcely  have  accepted  such  a  sacrifice,  for  he  is 
more  generous  than  either  you  or  I !" 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

GUI   BONO? 

"  I  have  had  a  dream  this  evening,  while  the  white  and  gold  were  fleeting ; 
But  I  need  not.  need  not  tell  it — where  would  be  the  good?" 

JEAN  INGELOW. 

NEW  YORK  talked  louder  than  ever  of  Miss  Vosburgh's 
eccentricities,  for  she  was  seen  everywhere  constantly  with 
the  organist  of  St.  Aloysius's, — at  operas,  concerts,  and 
recitals, — everywhere  but,  as  Mrs.  Herndon  had  said,  in 
society.  And  Chickering  Hall  had  witnessed  another 
creditable  display  on  the  part  of  Cheston's  class.  Slowly 
but  surely  the  musically  cultured  were  awakening  to  a 
perception  of  his  worth.  Miss  Vosburgh.  fresh  from  the 
Friday  Abend  unterhaltungen  of  the  Leipzic  Conservatoire, 
declared  that  no  adept  of  the  Kammer  Musik  SoirZen 
could  claim  more  thorough  proficiency  than  Mr.  Cheston's 
best  pupils.  This  criticism  was  widely  quoted,  and  there 
were  many  with  whom  the  unpronounceable  German 
names  wrought  more  effectually  than  even  Miss  Vosburgh's 
pronunciamento  ;  for  that  young  lady,  over-fastidious  in 
many  of  her  tastes,  was  by  no  means  free  from  the  fault  of 
being  hypercritical. 

She  was  working  very  hard  at  present,  using  up  any 
quantity  of  lead  pencils,  and  running  constant  risk  of 
being  poisoned  by  the  black  lead.  But  after  a  time  the 
scribblings  were  legibly  copied  in  that  free  fair  hand 
which  won  for  her  the  eternal  blessings  of  the  proof-read- 
ers, and  "  Finis"  was  written  at  the  end  of  the  last  page. 

22  253 


254  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

Then  she  felt  free  to  rest,  she  said.     Shall  I  give   you  a 

sample  of  her  resting? 

********** 

Outside  the  winter  night  was  cold  and  the  snow  fell 
steadily;  in  the  Vosburgh  drawing-room  there  were  the 
radiance  of  noonday  and  the  sweet  breath  of  hot-house 
bouquets.  Beneath  the  chandelier  sat  "Julee,"  in  a 
coquettish  French  costume  of  black  and  yellow,  with 
topazes  lying  on  her  bare  white  neck,  clasping  her  arms, 
and  glowing  in  the  dark  braids  of  her  hair ;  opposite 
her  the  familiar  friend  and  companion  of  so  many  hours. 
She  leaned  a  little  toward  him,  the  color  steady  in  her 
cheeks,  the  expression  of  her  face  singularly  calm  and 
peaceful,  her  head  drooped  like  a  flower  on  its  stem  ;  she 
looked  like  one  dreaming  some  rare  and  altogether  lovely 
dream. 

"  I  fear  your  damsel  is  too  forlorn.  Phasdre  picking 
holes  in  the  myrtle-leaves  with  her  hair-pin,  in  the  state 
of  absent-mindedness  to  which  her  lover's  defection  has 
reduced  her,  is  no  fair  sample  of  the  love-crossed  maiden 
of  to-day." 

"You  praised  my  maiden's  constancy  only  a  week 
ago." 

He  rose  and  walked  over  to  the  mantel,  looking  down 
into  a  Sevres  dish  of  roses  with  a  troubled  countenance. 
Her  eyes  followed  his  movements  wonderingly;  what  was 
wrong  with  him  ?  She  had  never  seen  him  look  like  that. 

"The  Corinthian  tyrants'  creed  is  the  one  adopted 
generally  by  most  of  the  world,"  shifting  his  position  so 
that  he  might  see  her  face. 

"Was  there  only  one  Corinthian  tyrant?"  she  asked, 
with  that  quizzical  half-smile. 

He  laughed,  but  after  a  gloomy  fashion,  resuming  his 
chair  opposite  her.  "  The  creed  of  the  one  was  the  creed 


CU1  BONO? 


255 


of  the  whole:  keep  your  oath  solemnly,  but  don't  hesi- 
tate to  break  it  if  it  clash  with  your  interest  and — half 
the  world  adds — inclination." 

"Don't  treat  me  to  a  new  phase  of  your  character  in 
the  shape  of  arrogance,  monsieur,  nor  ascribe  worse  im- 
pulses to  humanity  at  large  than  you  find  in  your  own 
breast.  I  suspect  you  allow  those  blue  lunettes  to  color  your 
sentiments.  Take  them  off  and  view  the  world  impar- 
tially ;  be  sure  that  it  is  made  up,  for  the  most  part,  of 
individuals  no  better,  no  worse  than  ourselves." 

"  If  my  lunettes,  as  you  call  them,  are  blue,  yours  are 
surely  couleurde  rose  /" 

"  No,  I  don't  use  them  ;  nor  would  I,  unless  I  should 
want  to  adopt  some  ridiculous  disguise,  and  there  are  other 
ways  of  doing  that.  Let  Phya  but  be  bold  and  beautiful 
enough,  and  what  is  to  prevent  the  populace  from  falling 
in  front  of  her  chariot  and  worshipping  her  as  Minerva  ?" 

"  What  is  the  worship  of  the  populace  to  the  heart  that 
has  no  home  ?  to  the  life  longing  for  sympathy,  compan- 
ionship, love  ?  to  the  man  that  doubts  if  in  one  human 
breast  a  single  tender  memory  of  him  is  cherished  ?" 

Surely  he  had  been  beguiled  into  thinking  aloud,  but 
the  flushed,  half-startled  face  of  the  girl  aroused  him  to 
consciousness. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said;  "I  have  bored  you  beyond 
endurance." 

"  Wait,  I  have  something  for  you." 

She  did  not  ring  for  a  servant  to  fetch  it  but  went  her- 
self, returning  in  a  moment  with  a  dingy  volume  bound 
in  calf,  which  she  put  in  his  hand. 

"  Tenez  /"  she  said,  with  that  high  silver  note  predomi- 
nant in  her  voice.  "Years  ago  I  picked  it  up  on  some 
mining-grounds  in  the  North,  where  we  were  making  a 
tour  of  observation.  A  young  man  had  been  reading  it, 


256  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

for  its  lessons,  he  said."  She  looked  very  shy  and  arch 
and  deprecating,  with  that  half-timid  eagerness  of  glance 
and  tone  so  entirely  new  to  her. 

He  could  not  affect  ignorance  of  her  meaning;  but 
while  he  mastered  his  surprise  and  confusion  very  credit- 
ably, he  did  not  offer  to  admit  his  disguise. 

"The  lesson  he  learned  from  the  Tristia  was  not  one 
of  hope,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  manner,  taking  the  book 
from  her  hand;  "however,  I  accept  it  with  gratitude, 
Miss  Vosburgh,  for,  I  doubt  not,  it  is  better  to  kill  hope 
in  one's  heart."  With  which  he  bowed  and  left  her. 

"  Julee"  flew  to  her  dressing-room,  and  in  the  depths 
of  her  crimson  chair  wept  such  tears  as  she  had  never 
wept  before ;  not  even  when  she  had  stood  in  the  soft 
Italian  sunlight  where  lay  the  mother  she  could  "just 
remember,"  sleeping  in  the  land  of  her  love  by  Caius 
Cestus's  tomb.  For  shining  through  these  tears  were 
rainbows  that  heralded  a  fair  to-morrow,  and  the  dream 
was  emerging  into  a  reality.  So  she  thought,  poor 
"Julee,"  whose  days  of  rest  were  so  nearly  over  ! 

And  in  his  room,  amid  the  symbols  of  his  labor,  sat 
the  music-master  late  into  the  night,  with  his  "lunettes" 
discarded  and  his  fingers  thrust  into  his  hair,  thinking, 
thinking.  Was  the  man  contemplating  some  duplicity 
and  seeking  for  excuse  among  the  lawless  creeds  of  the 
old  Grecian  code  that  their  folly  should  haunt  his  brain 
so  persistently? 

The  difference  in  a  man's  love,  as  compared  with  a 
woman's,  is  that  where  he  doubts  she  trusts.  With  reason, 
perhaps,  since  so  often  he  is  made  to  suffer  from  a  woman's 
caprices,  to  her  shame  be  it  written.  But  there  are  those 
who  enjoy  perfect  faith  in  the  protestations  of  a  lover, 
because  they  measure  his  truth  by  their  own.  And  men 
from  their  broader  experience  grow  prone  to  suspect  faith 


GUI  BONO? 


357 


in  the  abstract,  though  I  think  they  do  not  gain  in  ex- 
perience what  they  lose  in  charity  and  peace  of  mind. 
Cheston  went  to  bed  in  the  early  gray  dawn  of  the  morn- 
ing with  the  problem  unsolved ;  after  all,  cut  bono  ?  since 
he  had  resolved  to  "kill  hope  in  his  heart." 


22* 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

A    GHOST    FROM   THE    PAST. 

"  My  soul  is  jealous  of  my  happier  eyes." 

JEAN  INGELOW. 

"I  THINK  you  and  Cheston,  Julia,  will  be  very  com- 
plete in  Zelter's  classics  if  you  continue  as  you  have 
begun.  It  is  not  every  bachelor  that  owns  such  solace 
for  his  lonely  hours." 

Doctor  Duncan  was  escorting  his  cousin  to  her  car- 
riage. He  had  been  much  surprised  to  find  her  in  Ches- 
ton's  apartment,  bending  with  him  over  the  orchestra 
scores  on  the  rack,  with  her  maid,  Leah,  playing  propriety 
over  by  the  grate. 

"You  don't  in  the  least  understand  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about,"  Miss  Vosburgh  had  replied;  "we  are  doing 
some  work  together,  that  is  all." 

Then  the  carriage  bore  her  away,  and  Duncan  did  not 
follow  to  see  it  halt  before  a  certain  opera-house  and  his 
cousin  enter  by  a  private  entrance,  quite  like  one  of  the 
habitues  of  the  house.  Neither  was  he  enlightened  upon 
the  subject  when  he  read  in  his  evening  paper  the  follow- 
ing item: 

"  '!N  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT'  is  the  title  of  a  new  opera 
in  course  of  preparation  for  the  boards  at  Opera- 
House.  The  authors  choose  to  remain  incognito  until 
the  merits  of  the  play  have  been  tested.  Competent  judges, 
who  have  examined  it,  predict  for  it  instant  success.  The 
258 


A    GHOST  FROM   7 HE  PAST. 


259 


score  abounds  with  melodies — Volkslieder,  so  to  speak — 
sure  to  awaken  a  responsive  chord  in  the  breasts  of  the 
people,  while  the  stanchest  adherents  to  the  grand  old 
Titans  of  musical  art  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  classical  thoroughness  evinced  in  its  construction. 
There  are  none  of  the  distinguishing  features  of  any  of 
our  familiar  maestri  to  be  discerned  in  the  score,  but  on 
dit  attributes  to  a  certain  bel  esprit  of  our  great  world  the 
enchanting  lyrics  and  witty  situations  with  which  the 
libretto  abounds.  The  incidents  of  the  play  hinge  upon 
that  eminently  ludicrous  episode  in  Don  Quixote  where 
the  knight's  squire,  Sancho  Panza,  while  wandering  about 
in  the  dark,  is  precipitated  over  a  precipice,  when  with 
the  energy  of  despair,  he  clutches  a  root  growing  out  of  a 
cleft  in  its  side,  and  clings  to  it  frantically  until  day  dawn- 
ing shows  him  his  pit,  a  sink-hole,  and  himself  just  one 
foot  from  the  bottom.  It  is  a  very  weird  tale,  evidently 
intended  for  melodramatic  and  scenic  effect,  and  not  to  be 
too  critically  viewed  in  the  light  of  reason,  but  the  morale 
is  not  wanting  for  those  who  consider  it  indispensable. 
A  company  of  fair  talent  has  been  engaged  to  present 

the  piece,  and  Manager  L 's  new  tenor,  M.  Homay, 

who  enjoys  an  international  reputation,  and  has  stood  the 
test  of  a  critical  Boston  audience,  will  make  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  the  role  of  the  leading  character." 

"  Julee"  went  out  a  great  deal  now,  and  chose  to  exert 
herself  more  untiringly  than  ever.  The  shining  eyes 
had  acquired  a  trick  of  thoughtfulness  that  was  altogether 
new  to  them ;  the  rich  color  was  less  steady  than  its  wont, 
on  her  cheeks,  though  vivid  enough  at  a  sudden  step  in 
the  hall  or  hand  on  the  door. 

She  went  to  her  father  one  day  with  an  open  letter  in 
her  hand.  "Papa,  you  remember  that  lovely  Miss  Ran- 


260  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

dolph  we  met  one  summer  at  Rock  Enon  ? — the  girl 
with  an  invalid  uncle  and  an  old  aunt,  knitting  always, 
like  the  concierges  in  the  conservatory  hall  at  Paris. 
Well,  we  have  been  corresponding  of  late,  and  I  have 
prevailed  upon  her  to  visit  us.  She  is  coming  to-day." 

"  And  you  will  want  to  show  her  a  great  deal  of  gayety 
while  she  is  here?" 

" I  don't  know;  unless  she  has  changed  she  is  not  one 
of  that  sort." 

"Well,  what  is  it,  my  love?" 

"  Merely  that  I  want  you  to  know  she  is  coming, 
and  be  prepared  to  welcome  her  like  the  cavalier  that  you 
are,"  with  a  warm  fond  smile.  But  she  still  stood  at  his 
side,  rolling  the  letter  into  a  lamp-lighter.  "  Papa,  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  decide  about  going  with  you  in  the 
spring,"  speaking  in  a  low  voice  with  strange  hesitation, 
"at  least  not  yet  awhile.  But  there  is  plenty  of  time, 
and  you  will  keep  the  place  open  for  me,  as  they  say  in 
business,  will  you  not,  in  case  I  should  decide  to  go  ?' ' 

"In  case  you  do  not  I  shall  ask  Cheston  to  relieve  me 
of  the  responsibility  and  go  in  my  stead.  It  would  be 
of  infinite  advantage  to  him ;  but  the  fellow  is  so  re- 
served and  independent  one  don't  know  how  to  offer  him 
service." 

She  walked  to  her  dressing-room  with  a  strange  smile, 
and  threw  herself  in  the  great  red  fauteuil  with  a  dubious 
half-laugh.  "By  that  time  I  surely  will  be  able  to  decide," 
she  thought ;  "  and  then  what  will  it  matter  which  of  us 
stays  or  goes?"  But  the  imperious  nature  of  the  girl 
reasserted  its  dominion,  and  she  sprang  up  to  ring  for  her 
carriage,  carolling  in  her  rich  silvery  voice,  in  the  pauses 
of  her  toilet-making, — 

"  And  I  clasped  and  held  it  close, 
Sweet,  lovely,  thomless  rose !" 


A    GHOST  FROM   THE   PAST.  26l 

"  I  have  the  same  right  to  caress  Jicks  that  Roma 
had  to  pet  his  hen,  or  Rembrandt  his  monkey,"  Miss 
Vosburgh  was  saying  in  her  high  sweet  voice  when  Ches- 
ton  entered  her  drawing-room  that  evening.  She  was 
stroking  a  hideous  little  Scotch  terrier  of  the  ugliest, 
most  uncompromising  shade  of  dingy  brown.  Doctor 
Duncan  stood  on  the  defensive,  as  was  evident  from  tone 
and  attitude. 

"  I  must  admit  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  author  of 
Athalie's  mood  when  he  finds  such  intense  delight  in 
heading  his  children's  nursery  procession  ;  but  genius  is 
wedded  to  folly  all  the  world  over,  is  it  not,  Cheston?" 

Cheston  did  not  answer ;  his  eyes,  behind  the  color- 
lending  lunettes,  were  rivetted  upon  a  figure  that  lounged 
in  a  dormeuse  with  its  face  in  shadow, — a  figure  draped 
in  blue,  with  a  weighty  coronet  of  pale-brown  braids 
wound  round  a  shapely  head. 

"Amy,  allow  me  to  introduce  my  friend, — Mr.  Ches- 
ton, Miss  Randolph.  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  though 
you  are  too  late  to  have  heard  the  strictures  on  your 
gift.  Tell  them  its  history,  please." 

"  He  followed  me  home  one  day,  eh,  Jicks?"  snapping 
his  fingers  at  the  dog  making  sundry  demonstrations  of 
delight  over  him,  "  and  Miss  Vosburgh  chose  to  play  the 
Good  Samaritan  to  the  vagrant,  rather  than  send  him  to 
the  pound.  I  warned  her  it  might  prove  a  thankless  job." 

As  he  spoke,  Miss  Randolph,  who  seemed  very  weary, 
turned  her  face  toward  him  under  the  full  rays  of  the  gas- 
jets,  a  peculiar  shade  of  perplexity  upon  it.  She  looked 
at  him  earnestly  with  those  questioning,  serious  eyes. 
"Julee"  and  the  doctor  also  were  curiously  regarding 
him.  Was  it  a  wonder  that  his  eyes  fell  ? 

"  Why,  you  are  hoarse  as  a  raven,  Cheston,  and  small 
wonder  considering  how  reckless  you  are.  But  the  ques- 


262  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

tion  is,  what  will  they  do   for  their  tenor  to-morrow  at 
H ?" 

"May  I  speak  to  you  a  moment,  Miss  Vosburgh?  my 
time  is  limited."  Doctor  Duncan  went  over  to  the  dor- 
meuse,  and  "  Julee"  made  room  for  her  friend  on  the 
ottoman. 

"  Are  you  not  well  ?  you  are  very  pale.  Ah,  you 
have  no  mercy  on  yourself,  you  work  too  hard.  I  never 
have  seen  you  look  so  ill."  The  sweet  mocking  voice 
fell  to  so  soft  a  pitch  of  sympathy  that  it  was  almost 
tenderness. 

"I  am  more  merciful  to  myself  than  I  deserve,"  he 
said,  still  with  that  husky  note  in  his  voice,  while  the 
pallor  on  his  face  grew  even  more  pronounced.  But  she 
noticed  that  his  glance  went  back  to  the  dormeuse  and 
she  did  not  wonder  at  that,  for  her  friend  was  very 
lovely.  The  passing  years  had  developed  every  charm 
of  face  and  form  into  completeness.  The  girl  who  had 
laughed  over  her  old-world  fancies  at  Rock  Enon,  and 
treated  her  to  quaint  little  lectures  on  life  and  its  duties, 
had  grown  into  the  maturer  grace  of  womanhood.  But 
the  quaint  naive  charm  of  the  child,  still  lingered,  and 
though  the  eyes  had  grown  very  serious,  they  were  full  of 
a  calm  peace,  as  of  one  who  has  learned  after  long  strug- 
gling to  say,— 

"  I  have  not  what  I  love  the  best, 
But  I  must  thank  God  for  the  rest, 
While  I  hold  heaven  a  verity." 

Once  or  twice  the  soft  musical  sound  of  her  laughter 
floated  over  to  them  where  they  sat.  Cheston  rose,  a  dis- 
traught look  in  his  eyes,  as  of  pain  endured  too  keen  to 
smile  away. 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave,"  he  said  ;  "  I  should  like  to  stay, 
but  am  not  equal  to  it." 


A    GHOST  FROM   THE   PAST.  263 

"  I  can  well  believe  that,"  was  his  hostess's  reply,  "  for 
indeed  you  are  very  unlike  yourself  to-night.  I  trust  you 
are  not  going  to  be  ill — now  of  all  times  in  the  year  ! 
Ask  your  landlady  to  make  you  a  cup  of  tisane  :  it  is  what 
my  bonne  always  gave  me  for  a  cold  when  a  nursery-child, 
— that  and  a  mustard-bath." 

It  was  well  that  Cheston  had  learned  the  lesson  of  the 
Tristia  so  well,  else  I  think,  for  all  his  vigorous  will  and 
dauntless  courage,  he  might  have  gone  mad  that  night. 

"Alone!  alone!  always  alone!"  shrieked  that  ghost 
that  had  arisen  from  his  past  and  trailed  her  sweeping 
robes  through  his  desolate  rooms.  In  vain  that  he  had 
borne  life  when  it  was  a  burden  that  weighed  him  to  the 
very  earth  and  humbly  had  striven  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
in  vain  the  weary  travail  of  the  years,  for  of  what  avail  is 
repentance  without  atonement  ? 

Ah,  his  faith  was  not  as  strong  as  his  will,  that  kept  him 
from  going  mad  that  night,  else  would  he  have  trusted 
his  repentance  with  Him  who  has  offered  us  all  an  atone- 
ment, "eternal,  though  unseen." 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

RENUNCIATION. 

"  Come,  let  us  go !  your  cheeks  are  pale, 

But  half  my  life  I  leave  behind." — In  Memoriam. 

IN  "Juice's"  boudoir,  Cheston  bent  his  head  over  the 
little  ebony  writing-desk  and  demonstrated, with  his  pencil, 
sundry  alterations  to  be  made  in  some  sheets  of  newly- 
printed  score,  and  in  his  earnestness  he  raised  his  voice 
injudiciously.  Quite  free  from  hoarseness  it  was  now. 
"  Julee"  leaned  back  in  her  crimson  chair  and  encouraged 
his  suggestions  with  a  most  flattering  attention. 

While  he  was  still  enlarging  upon  the  points  under  dis- 
cussion, the  portiere  was  swept  aside  and  Miss  Vosburgh's 
guest  presented  herself  behind  it.  She  looked  pale  and 
agitated,  her  hand  at  her  heart,  as  though  to  arrest  its 
tumultuous  throbbings. 

"  What  is  it,  Amy?  What  has  frightened  you  ?"  cried 
"Julee,"  springing  from  her  easy-chair  to  her  friend's 
side. 

"  I  heard  a  voice — I  thought — I  thought  there  was  no 
other  in  the  world  like  it.  Forgive  me !  I  have  inter- 
rupted you — but  indeed  I  was  greatly  shocked." 

She  looked  keenly  at  the  man  bending  over  the  desk 
on  his  knee,  with  his  left  hand  thrust  in  his  dark-brown 
hair.  He  gave  her  the  casual  glance  of  a  stranger  and  a 
formal  bow,  and  fell  to  his  work  again.  But  she  did  not 
see  the  look  in  the  eyes  behind  those  concealing  glasses, — 
the  look  of  a  wild  creature  brought  to  bay  !  He  thrust 
264 


RENUNCIATION.  265 

the  papers  from  him  when  she  left  with  a  gesture  so  ex- 
pressive that  "  Julee"  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant.  The 
sweet  sympathy  of  those  whilom  proud  eyes  unmanned 
him. 

"Doesj^<?  look  like  one  to  harbor  memory  of  wrong?" 
he  asked,  in  gasping  tones,  as  he  caught  convulsively  at 
the  hand  on  his  sleeve.  "  If  there  be  sin  and  misery  and 
reckless  wrongdoing  in  the  world,  does  she  look  like  one 
to  judge  them  too  severely  ?" 

"Then  you  know  her,  you  have  seen  her  before,  some 
time  in  the  past  of  which  you  never  speak?" 

"  It  is  as  you  say,"  he  said  ;  and  amid  all  the  mists  of 
doubt  and  anguish  that  were  blotting  his  features  from 
her,  she  still  retained  a  keen  consciousness  of  what  he 
was  suffering.  "You  will  not  let  her  dream  it?  you  will 
guard  my  secret  closely?" 

"Is  there  no  hope  for  you? — -Juste  ceil!  then  I  pity 
you  !" 

The  passionate  despair  in  her  heart  found  vent  in  that 
brief  cry.  Its  tone  struck  him  with  dismay,  but  he  could 
not  fathom  its  meaning,  and  he  thanked  her  for  her 
sympathy  with  impetuous  words  that  wounded  her  like 
so  many  well-aimed  blows.  He  did  not  see  that  her  lips 
had  lost  their  ripe  bloom,  or  that  the  fitful  carmine  drift- 
ing from  her  cheeks  had  left  them  white  as  freshly-fallen 

snow. 

******** 

And  now  there  were  two  men  in  Gotham  who  waged 
warfare  with  a  subtle  temptation.  "  O  Love  !  Love  !  are 
ye  oftener  angel  or  demon  ?" 

To  the  one  the  tempter  said,  "  Win  her  from  destruc- 
tion, from  the  pitiful  results  of  that  fruitless  quest  which 
she  has  made  the  Juggernaut  of  her  youth.  She  already 
feels  more  than  a  friend's  affection  for  you ;  you  have  power 

23 


266  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

as  no  other  has  to  drive  the  dark  shadows  from  her  eyes ; 
in  time  your  constant  and  untiring  love  will  lull  to  forget- 
fulness  all  memory  of  that  other  one." 

And  to  the  other  it  said,  "  She  has  not  forgotten  ; 
her  memory  is  faithful  as  your  own,  but  a  spectre  stands 
between  you,  and  at  the  first  glimpse  of  it  she  would  turn 
away  with  affright,  nay,  it  might  be  with  even  horror  and 
aversion  in  her  gentle  eyes.  But  you  may  woo  her  with 
the  voice  of  him  she  loved,  aye,  wed  her,  perhaps,  with 
your  alien  name,  for  when  did  one  of  your  race  ever  fail 

when  he  set  his  will,  as  a  flint,  to  win  ?" 

********  * 

A  few  evenings  later  saw  Amy  and  Doctor  Duncan 
driving  along  the  broad  road  to  Manhattanville,  just  as 
they  had  used  to  drive  in  the  old  days  of  their  intimacy 
along  the  suburban  roads  of  Baltimore.  For  a  while  they 
drove  rapidly  in  silence,  the  keen  winter  wind  smiting 
their  cheeks ;  but  on  their  homeward  route,  Doctor  Dun- 
can let  the  reins  fall  slack  on  the  ponies'  necks,  and 
turned  to  her  with  a  mixed  expression  on  his  face  that 
puzzled  her.  "  What  of  your  quest,  Amy  ?" 

"  It  has  been  in  vain  so  far,"  her  voice  faltered. 

"  And  you  have  lost  hope  ?" 

"  No ;  I  shall  hope  as  long  as  I  live." 

He  sighed  deeply,  gathering  his  reins  up  afresh,  and 
again  the  houses  flew  past  like  shadows ;  the  winter  wind 
smote  their  faces  keenly.  He  turned  to  her  almost 
fiercely  at  last.  "Child,"  he  cried,  "can't  you  bear 
your  troubles  better  than  you  do?"  for  the  haunting  pain 
in  her  eyes  looking  up  into  the  sunset  skies  stung  him 
into  pity  in  spite  of  himself.  She  looked  at  him  with 
gentle  surprise.  When  had  he  ever  spoken  so  before? 

"  I  can  bear  it  no  better,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  timid, 
wistful  entreaty.  "  I  try  very  hard,  but  I  can  do  no  better." 


RENUNCIA  TION.  267 

"  Forgive  me,  little  girl ;  I  spoke  harshly,  but  there  are 
so  many  burdens  in  life,  and  each  believes  his  own  to  be 
heaviest.  Look  up  to  where  the  sun  is  setting :  is  not 
that  a  magnificent  pageant  ?  Red  and  green,  blue  and 
gold  !  I  wonder  what  human  artist  would  dare  use  his 
colors  so  lavishly?  An  hour  ago  and  all  those  radiant 
masses  of  color  were  sombre  clouds.  If  we  could  have 
patience  to  wait,  the  clouds  of  unrest  and  misunderstand- 
ing in  our  life's  sky  would  lighten  and  dissolve  and  float 
away  in  lambent  luminance  as  do  those;  don't  you  be- 
lieve it?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  it,"  slow  tears  dropping  down  her 
cheeks,  "only  it  seems  sad  to  wait  until  the  sun  is  nearly 
down,  until  life  is  nearly  over." 

Then  this  good  man,  with  the  noble  self-abnegation  of 
his  nature,  renounced  the  purpose  with  which  he  hads  et 
out  on  this  drive,  and,  seeing  that  her  burden  was  not  to 
be  transferred,  sought  to  lighten  it  by  that  happy  faculty 
of  his  which  had  won  for  him  such  an  enviable  reputa- 
tion in  the  polie  societt  of  Gotham.  By  the  time  he 
left  her  at  her  friend's  door  there  were  no  evidences  of 
tears  or  unhappy  memories  in  her  eyes.  Instead,  the  pain 
at  her  heart  was  easier,  the  cloud  on  her  life  less  dark ; 
for,  good  physician  that  he  was,  he  had  directed  her  to 
the  only  balm  that  could  soothe  a  wound  like  hers,  even 
the  Balm  of  Gilead. 

That  night  in  the  Vosburgh  drawing-rooms  a  motley 
crowd  swept  to  and  fro  in  all  the  parti-display  of  a  bal 
masque.  Miss  Vosburgh,  in  the  short  skirts  and  peaked 
hat  of  L'Incroyable,  challenged  detection  even  upon  the 
part  of  her  most  intimate  friends.  For  who  had  ever  known 
"Julee"  silent  and  distrait  as  L'Incroyable  behind  her 
mask?  And  those  lack-lustre  eyes  that  looked  out  in- 
differently from  the  hideous  little  lace-fringed  openings 


268  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT.  . 

X 

of  the  domino  held  no  flashing  demands  for  the  best  that 
life  had  to  bestow. 

Amy  Randolph,  in  the  shimmering  robes  of  Leicester's 
ill-fated  bride,  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  domino 
in  steel  and  blue,  whose  device  was  unfamiliar  to  any  in 
the  crowd. 

"  So,  my  fair  countess,  you  have  left  off  dreaming  of 
Leicester  long  enough  to  grace  this  giddy  revel  with  your 
presence." 

"What  if  I  bring  my  dreams  to  the  revel,  fair  sir?" 
she  answered,  in  the  same  playful  strain,  though  she  found 
herself  unprepared  again  for  the  surprise  his  voice  occa- 
sioned her,  and  set  him  down  at  once  as  "  Juice's"  musical 
friend. 

"Then  I  should  say  your  dreams  were  hardy  things  to 
bear  such  rough  usage,  and  destined  to  become  realities 
some  day." 

"  Heaven  grant  it,  kind  sir,  else  would  my  life  hold 
small  compensation  for  its  pains.  I  have  come  to  con- 
sider this  world  a  dream-land  after  all,  compared  with  the 
fuller  existence  that  awaits  us  ;  and  if  our  dreams  be  pure 
in  this  life,  who  shall  say  that  they  will  not  come  true  in 
the  next?" 

Was  it  a  stifled  groan  that  issued  from  the  lips  of  the 
domino  in  steel  and  blue  ?  L? Incroyable  darted  between 
them,  laying  a  light  hand  on  the  arm  of  each.  "  My  two 
best  friends!"  she  cried,  in  the  rich  ringing  tones  that 
had  been  so  well  disguised  all  the  evening.  "  I  can  trust 
you  to  understand  each  other!" 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

CANCELLED. 

"  And  the  voice  of  the  dead  became  a  living  voice  to  me." 

TENNYSON. 

DOCTOR  DUNCAN  sat  waiting  for  his  friend  in  the 
bottega,  as  he  had  named  the  room  where  hung  the 
huge  chalk-marked  blackboard,  and  where  the  insignia  of 
his  profession  littered  every  table  and  chair.  But  as  the 
moments  passed  and  he  did  not  make  his  appearance,  the 
doctor  went  over  to  the  door  of  the  anteroom  adjoining, 
and  knocked  lightly  on  its  panel. 

"Is  it  you,  Duncan?     Come  in." 

"Why,  old  fellow,  what  keeps  you  so  long?  You  have 
taken  a  pretty  while  to  dress;  are  you  always  so  tardy?" 

"By  no  means;  the  truth  is  I  fell  to  thinking."  As 
he  spoke  he  reached  over  for  a  ring  that  lay  on  his  dress- 
ing-table, and  fitted  it  leisurely  down  upon  his  finger. 

"I  was  not  aware  you  were  guilty  of  a  single  vanity, 
Cheston.  Allow  me,"  and  Doctor  Duncan  leaned  over 
his  friend's  hand  to  inspect  the  ring.  "A  very  fine 
intaglio.  What  is  the  figure?" 

"Nemesis;  don't  you  recognize  the  symbols?" 

What  spirit  of  recklessness,  bravado,  call  it  what  you 
will,  prompted  him  to  wear  that  ring  to-night  for  the  first 
time  in  long  years  ? 

The  two  went  out  together  very  quietly.  "What  is 
wrong,  Duncan  ?  You  don't  look  d£bonnaire  as  usual. 
Are  the  old  heart  troubles  growing  stubborn  again?" 

23*  269 


270 


IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 


"No;  I  believe  I  have  them  well  under  hand,  Ches- 
ton.  I  have  had  an  unwelcome  conviction  forced  upon 
me,  that  is  all." 

"Can't  you  resist  it?" 

"Impossible!"  And  though  his  voice  was  troubled, 
the  expression  of  indomitable  calm  on  his  face  reassured 
his  friend. 

Just  before  Miss  Vosburgh  left  her  boudoir  that  evening 
she  plucked  all  the  scarlet  beads  off  the  thorny  points  of 
her  card-receiver,  for  she  had  accidentally  hurt  her  hand 
upon  it  earlier  in  the  day,  and,  as  she  had  said  at  the  time, 
"  so  much  for  pretension  of  any  sort !"  So  the  red  beads, 
that  only  served  to  conceal  the  cruel  points,  but  not  to 
blunt  them,  were  all  thrust  into  the  grate,  and  it  stood  for 
what  it  was,  a  pretty  glossy  toy,  upon  which  one  must, 
however,  bestow  very  careful  handling. 

They  made  a  noticeable  party  that  night.  Many  lorg- 
nettes were  levelled  at  their  box.  Two  beautiful  women, 
two  handsome  men,  that  was  all  the  lorgnettes  said.  Not 
even  Cheston  knew  that  his  friend's  hands  were  like  ice 
even  through  his  gloves;  nor  did  Amy  understand  the 
mocking  glance  with  which  "Julee"  leaned  towards 
Cheston,  just  as  the  curtain  was  rising,  half  whispering  the 
refrain  from  her  favorite  German  song,  "  Rosclein  /  Rose- 
lein  !  muss  en  denn  Dornen  sein  ?" 

The  new  opera  had  drawn  a  crowded  house  to  witness 
its  presentation.  From  the  first  scene  it  seemed  to  attract. 

"  See  !  the  critics  and  the  newspaper  men  are  still  hold- 
ing out,"  whispered  Miss  Vosburgh ;  "that  augurs  well 
for  its  success." 

The  third  act  was  well  on,  the  scene  a  forest,  with 
very  fair  moonlight  filtering  down  between  the  trees; 
the  chief  episode  of  the  act  a  duel,  in  which  the  prin- 
cipals advanced  very  near  the  footlights.  And  when 


CANCELLED. 


271 


the  shots  were  fired  one  fell, — no  mere  stage-fall,  but  with 
a  dull,  lifeless  thud,  as  of  one  shot  through  the  heart. 
Deafening  applause  rent  the  auditorium,  for  the  relaxed 
figure  lying  there  among  the  short,  thick  grasses  simu- 
lated death  to  perfection,  from  the  pallor  that  spread  to 
his  blue-black  hair  to  the  rigid  line  of  his  lips,  faintly 
parted  over  the  gleaming  teeth.  Long  before  success  had 
been  pronounced  by  this  viva  voce  of  the  audience 
the  manager  had  been  telegraphed  from  the  orchestra  of 
the  favorable  impression  being  produced  upon  the  house*. 
So  when  the  drop-curtain  fell  on  the  last  act,  it  only  re- 
mained for  the  author  to  present  himself  before  the  foot- 
lights and  receive  the  thanks  of  the  public.  But  this  was 
not  likely  to  happen,  for  the  writer  of  the  scores  was  ob- 
livious to  everything  but  to  that  face  lying  in  the  glare  of 
the  footlights  ;  and  Miss  Randolph's  eyes  could  have  held 
no  more  of  sickening  horror  in  their  soft  depths  had  that 
acted  death  over  there  upon  the  stage  been  the  reality  it 
seemed. 

"  Take  me  home,  will  you  not  ?  Oh,  be  quick,  I  feel 
so  faint  !" 

"Do  you  know  how  strange  you  are  acting?"  said 
"Julee,"  touching  his  arm  when  the  curtain  dropped. 
"Miss  Randolph  is  ill ;  Douglass  has  taken  her  home." 

"Amy!  did  she  see?  did  she  know?" 

"What  was  there  to  see,  or  to  know?"  And  "Julee" 
sighed  wearily.  "  She  is  not  used  to  the  drama,  and  you 
found  fault  with  my  plot  as  too  harrowing.  There  comes 
the  tenor  for  an  ovation.  What  a  handsome  man  !" 

Cheston  jerked  the  glasses  from  his  eyes  and  rose  to  his 
feet  with  the  crowd.  "Julee"  looked  at  him  earnestly, 
she  had  never  seen  his  eyes  before.  How  fine  they  were, 
dark-blue,  wide  and  clear !  but  she  could  make  nothing 
of  the  strained,  incredulous  expression  in  them  now. 


272  IN  SANCHO   PANZAS  PIT. 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  face  as  white  as  death.  "As 
sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  heaven,"  he  said,  with  great 
labored  breaths,  "  that  is  Rabys  Holme  !  No  ghost,  no 
spectre,  but  his  living,  breathing  self!" 

"  '  Monsieur  Homay'  they  call  him  in  the  company. 
Do  you  know  him  ?  They  are  calling  for  the  composers. 
Will  you  show  ?  Pour  mot,  I  am  not  disposed  to  relin- 
quish one  jot  of  my  triumph  to-night." 

He  obeyed  her  imperious  gesture  and  advanced  with 
Her  to  the  front  of  the  box.  There  followed  round  after 
round  of  tumultuous  applause,  for  the  author  of  "Alida" 
was  an  idol  in  New  York  society,  and  they  forgave  the 
stranger  his  presumption  for  the  music  he  had  given 
them  that  took  their  hearts  by  storm. 

"  Hugh,"  whispered  a  little  black-eyed  woman,  clutch- 
ing a  brown-bearded  man  frantically  by  the  arm,  "  look, 
there  stands  Chester,  as  sure  as  I  live  ! — there,  in  the  box 
by  the  stage,  the  man  they  have  just  been  cheering,  the 
man  who  wrote  the  play.  It  is  Chester !" 

"Why,  Milly,  how  can  you?  Chester's  hair  was  as 
yellow  as  our  baby's?" 

" But  his  eyes  !  did  you  see  his  eyes?  They  belonged 
to  no  one  in  the  world  but  Chester !" 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

AT   LAST  ! 

"  After  long  grief  and  pain, 

To  find  the  arms  of  my  true  love 
Round  me  once  again." 

TENNYSON. 

"!T  was  Rabys  Holme,"  said  Amy,  when  Doctor  Dun- 
can had  got  her  safely  in  the  carriage  and  the  coachman 
had  closed  the  door  after  them.  "  It  was  Rabys  Holme, 
my  uncle's  ward  !" 

"Who?  where?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  The  first  actor,  — that  man  who  fell  dead  on  the  stage. ' ' 

Then  it  was  not  the  Nemesis  on  his  friend's  finger  that 
had  turned  her  sick  and  faint.  It  was  still  reserved  for 
him  to  be  the  first  to  tell  her  that  her  quest  was  ended, 
— worthy  reward  for  a  love  like  his,  worthy  reward  and 
supreme  test  in  one. 

"  I  wrote  you  that  we  had  heard  of  him,  you  remem- 
ber?"— her  lips  were  unsteady,  the  shock  of  recognizing 
this  man  had  been  very  great, — "that  he  had  become  a 
singer  by  profession,  that  he  had  gained  some  triumphs 
in  the  land  of  his  birth,  but  we  did  not  hear  that  he  had 
returned." 

"And  if  you  had  heard  it,  you  would  have  been  none 
the  wiser :  he  calls  himself  Homay,  that  first  tenor  who 
acted  in  the  new  play  to-night." 

"It  is  Rabys,  none  other.  Oh,  is  it  not  hard  to  trust 
always  in  God's  justice?  To  see  him  reaping  laurels  of 
praise  from  his  fellow-men  for  those  poor  little  tricks  of 

song  and  gesture " 

273 


274  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

He  interrupted  her,  laying  his  hand  on  hers  with  the 
old  gentle  action  that  bespoke  sympathy  and  encourage- 
ment. "But  you  do  trust,  you  do  believe  that  God, 
though  working  by  ways  altogether  unknown  to  us,  doeth 
always  the  things  that  are  right  and  best  for  us?" 

"Yes."  Amy's  tears  were  falling  so  fast  now  that  she 
could  scarcely  trust  her  voice. 

"You  can  still  say,  'Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I 
trust  in  Him'?" 

She  was  utterly  past  speaking  now,  but  she  gave  him  a 
glance  from  her  sad  drenched 'eyes  that  made  him  recall 
the  words  of  the  lovely  old  rhyme, — 

"  And  the  cheeks  tear-washed  are  whitest 
That  the  blessed  angels  know !" 

They  finished  their  drive  in  perfect  silence,  but  he  did 
not,  as  she  supposed  he  would,  bid  her  good-night  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase;  instead,  he  asked  her,  if  she  was 
not  too  fatigued,  to  go  with  him  into  the  drawing-room, — 
he  had  something  to  say  to  her  yet  to-night.* 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak,  but  he  sat  looking  down 
upon  the  floor  in  silence.  How  could  she  know  that  in 
that  brief  space  of  time  he  was  quietly  invoking  aid 
through  this  ordeal  he  chose  not  to  spare  himself? 

"We  have  both  been  guilty  of  a  great  mistake,  Amy. 
I  am  going  to  show  you  how  I  have  been  punished  for  my 
arrogance.  I  found  a  clue,  this  evening,  by  which  I  knew 
that  your  quest  was  ended."  He  stopped  to  note  the 
effect  of  his  words,  but  she  evidently  had  not  digested  his 
meaning.  "  I  pocketed  the  clue,  and  I  thought  either 
to-day  or  to-morrow,  or  any  day  I  may  conclude  upon,  I 
will  give  it  into  her  hand  and  tell  her  that  her  waiting-time 
is  over;  but  not  until  I  can  gather  a  little  more  strength, 
for  you  will  remember,  Amy,  that  when  I  resign  the  clue 


AT  LAST! 


275 


into  your  hands,  I  also  renounce  the  sweetest  hope  of  my 
life.  See  now," — Amy  was  gazing  at  him  with  troubled 
eyes, — "just  when  I  have  assured  myself  that  but  for  me  the 
mystery  would  remain  unsolved,  another  agency  enters — 
shall  we  call  it  Providence  ? — and  throws  an  evidence  at 
our  very  feet,  before  which  my  poor  clue  dwindles  into  the 
merest  insignificance ;  for  it  clears  the  mystery  to  all  who 
have  observed  it ;  it  ends  your  quest  without  the  slightest 
degree  of  interference  upon  my  part." 

"  Doctor,  doctor,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Is  it  that  Cedric 
has  been  found,  that  he  is  near?" 

Doctor  Duncan  laughed.  Forgive  him  that  harsh  note 
in  his  voice ;  remember  he  is  resigning  her  utterly  to 
another,  this  soft-eyed  lovely  woman,  whose  empty  place 
in  his  life  he  can  never  hope  to  fill. 

"  Ah,  Amy,  Amy,  it  was  a  faithless  memory  at  best. 
Do  you  think  you  could  disguise  yourself  from  me  with 
a  pair  of  violet  glasses  and  hair  dyed  brown  with  genista? 
No,  you  owe  me  no  thanks ;  he  has  seen  Rabys  Holme 
with  his  own  eyes,  and  knows  that  he  is  free  to  come  to 
you  now  that  the  stain  of  blood-guiltiness  no  longer  rests 
upon  him.  What  a  black  weight  is  lifted  from  his  life  ! 
There,  do  not  weep  so,  dear  child ;  these  long  years  of 
trouble  have  taught  him  some  good  and  useful  lessons,  and 
you  have  many  left  in  which  to  live  and  love  together. 
Good-by,  little  girl !"  and  how  could  she  know  he  was 
bidding  her  a  final  farewell  ?  "  God  bless  you  and  grant 
you  the  happiness  that  He  has  so  long  denied  you  !  You 
deserve  it,  for  you  have  been  patient  and  faithful."  Then 
he  took  her  sweet  face  between  his  hands  and  kissed  her 
gently  on  the  forehead.  "It  is  no  disloyalty  to  him  that 
you  should  give  me  this  little  of  all  that  belongs  to  him. 
God  bless  you  both  !" 

Oh,    why   must   the    bitter    drop    ever   thus   find    its 


276  IN  SANCHO   PANZA'S  PIT. 

way  into  the  brimming  beaker  of  life's  choicest 
draught  ? 

*****  *  *  * 

Steps  in  the  vestibule ;  voices  in  the  hall.  She  started 
to  her  feet,  her  hand  pressed  tight  against  her  heart. 
"  Doctor  Duncan  is  waiting  for  you,  Miss  Julia,  in  the 
boudoir,"  she  heard  Leah  say  to  her  young  mistress, 
then  a  hand  on  the  door  of  the  drawing-room.  Was  she 
going  to  faint,  that  everything  grew  so  dark  before  her 
eyes,  she  who  had  never  fainted  even  when  her  anguish 
was  at  its  sharpest  ? 

He  came  toward  her;  the  mists  cleared  away.  Oh,  if 
she  had  seen  them  she  could  never  have  mistaken  them, 
those  beautiful  wide  blue  eyes,  filled  with  such  a  light  of 
gladness  and  joy  and  gratitude  as  she  had  never  seen  in 
human  eyes  before  ! 

"  Cedric,  my  dear,  my  dear  !" 

And  at  that  low  quivering  cry,  at  that  voice  from  his 
happy  youth,  the  strong  man  broke  down  with  a  sob, 
hiding  his  face  against  the  crown  of  her  sunny  hair. 
After  years  of  such  loneliness"  as  he  had  known,  such 
hopeless  weariness  and  pain,  to  feel  that  soft  touch  strok- 
ing his  cheek,  it  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  had 
felt  like  shouting  an  hour  ago  ;  he,  who  for  so  long  had 
feared  a  familiar  voice,  an  earnest  glance  as  his  worst  foes, 
he  could  have  shouted  aloud  in  the  delight  of  his  restored 
manhood ;  but  here  he  had  no  voice  for  speech,  he  could 
only  remember  that  his  long  days  of  exile  were  over,  that 
sympathy  and  love,  so  long  strangers,  were  to  be  the  com- 
panions of  his  daily  life  once  more,  and  the  quick  choking 
sobs  that,  with  a  man's  shame  of  unmanly  weakness,  he 
forced  himself  to  subdue  would  arise  in  his  throat  and 
hinder  his  speech  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do  to  prevent  it. 

She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  speak ;  she  stroked  his  cheek 


AT  LAST! 


277 


with  her  slender  caressing  fingers,  and  asked  him  where 
had  he  been  so  long,  so  long,  and  did  he  know  how  she 
had  been  looking  and  longing  for  him,  always  believing 
that  he  would  come  ?  And  his  father  was  old  and  broken 
with  disease;  but  this  would  make  him  young  again. 
And  Aunt  Bab,  and  poor  old  Jacob  !  Oh,  Cedric,  my 
dear,  my  dear !  For  what  was  the  use  of  trying  to  tell 
him  how  happy  they  all  would  be  ?  And  after  a  while  he 
could  trust  himself  to  speak,  though  he  was  slow  to  do  it, 
having  full  occupation  for  his  eyes  that  were  hungry  for 
an  unmolested  look  at  that  sweet  face  seen  only  in  his 
dreams  for  years. 

What  had  he  done  in  all  this  long  time?  He  would 
tell  her  all  some  day.  To-night  he  had  no  memory  for 
anything  that  he  had  suffered.  He  had  not  left  the  old 
wood  of  Cheswick  a  murderer  on  that  September  evening 
so  long  ago;  he  was  free  to  shift  his  disguise,  free  to 
confront  the  world,  free  to  claim  the  love  of  his  youth, — 
could  his  brain  hold  more  than  that  to-night  ? 

"  Julee"  sat  in  her  boudoir,  wrapped  in  a  crimson  dress- 
ing-gown, her  slippered  feet  upon  the  grate.  How  strange 
are  the  flights  that  thought  takes,  bidding  defiance  to  im- 
pediments of  matter  and  mind,  and  flying  straight  to  its 
destined  goal,  as  an  arrow  from  a  skilful  hand.  Strange 
that  the  girl  should  be  thinking  to-night  of  her  mother's 
grave  in  that  old  Roman  burial-ground,  where  so  often 
she  had  stood  in  the  fair  Italian  sunlight  and  felt  her  heart 
ache  for  pity  of  the  young  life  shut  down  so  deep  from 
the  glad  merriment  and  gracious  beauty  of  the  world. 
To-night,  when  she  had  just  drunk  of  a  cup  that  the  world 
seldom  offers,  even  to  its  favored  few,  to-night  to  be 
dreaming  of  her  mother's  lonely  grave  by  Caius  Cestus's 
tomb  ! 

24 


278  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

There  came  a  soft  knock  at  the  door  behind  the  velvet 
porttire. 

"  Entrcz  /"  cried  the  high  silver  voice. 

"Oh,  is  it  you?  That  is  right.  I  have  been  waiting 
for  you  to  come ;  but  you  need  tell  me  nothing,  for  I 
know  all.  '  Dug'  has  kept  me  up  half  the  night,  recounting 
the  whole  specious  tangle.  It  is  the  most  romantic  thing 
I  could  ever  have  dreamed  of;  I  shall  certainly  make  a 
note  of  it  for  my  next  book,  and  if  the  critics  dare  to  hint 
at  improbability,  I  shall  fling  it  in  their  very  faces  for  an 
authentic  history  of  two  lives  ! 

"  Oh,  'Julee,'  if  you  could  realize  how  I  feel  to-night !" 

"  It  is  beyond  me,  my  dear,  entirely.  I  have  experienced 
more  than  most  persons  of  my  years,  but  that  phase  is  new 
to  me  altogether." 

"Won't  you  be  serious,  'Julee'?  I  cannot  rest  with 
this  great  joy  in  my  heart.  God  seems  too  near, — nearer 
than  ever  before." 

"Juice's"  mocking  voice  was  hushed;  her  proud  bright 
eyes  grew  wistful  with  fast-coming  tears,  rare  evidences 
of  emotion  indeed  with  her.  She  drew  her  friend's  head 
down  to  her  shoulder,  and  patted  the  pale-brown  braids 
with  her  fingers.  "  Poor  child  !  how  you  are  trembling !" 
she  said.  "I  am  glad  for  you,  very,  very  glad,  but  you 
have  often  said  yourself,  have  you  not  ?  that  one  was  not 
in  a  position  to  sympathize  entirely  with  one  unless  one 
had  lived  through  some  previous  experience  of  a  similar 
nature.  Now,  I  have  never  lost  my  lover  and  found  him 
again,  nor  do  I  expect  that  I  ever  will,  but,  as  far  as  I 
can,  I  feel  very  glad  for  you,  my  dear.  Of  one  thing  I  am 
sure,  that  no  one  deserves  happiness  more  than  you,  you 
dear,  good  little  thing.  I  have  always  thought  you  the 
best  girl  that  ever  lived.  Under  all  that  trouble  I  should 
have  died  !  How  glad  I  am  that  Mr.  Cheston  is  somebody 


AT  LAST! 


279 


after  all ;  not  that  /  should  have  missed  the  world's 
opinion  upon  that  point,  but  to  silence  Mrs.  Herndon 
and  that  set,  and  to  humiliate  them,  perhaps,  by  a 
display  of  my  superior  judgment." 

"  He  says  if  it  had  not  been  for  you,  he  cannot  even 
imagine  what  would  have  become  of  him.  He  says  when 
he  was  almost  as  much  of  a  vagrant  as  Jicks,  you  singled 
him  out  and  did  one  thing  after  another  to  help  him." 

"Nonsense  !"  said  "  Julee,"  turning  her  face  away  and 
screening  her  eyes  with  her  hand  arched  above  them. 
"  He  is  the  most  self-reliant  man  I  ever  knew,  and  has  to 
thank  nobody  for  his  success.  His  own  excellent  judg- 
ment and  determination  were  his  only  allies  in  the  life  he 
has  led  here.  If  I  have  helped  him  at  all,  it  was  only 
through  the  sympathy  I  gave  him,"  and  Amy  wondered 
here  to  hear  the  full  proud  tones  falter.  "And  you 
know  how  he  has  helped  me ;  I  had  told  you  before  to- 
night. You  know,  of  course,  that  the  new  play  is  our  joint 
work.  But  who  ever  would  have  foretold  such  a  striking 
commentary  as  his  life  has  made  upon  my  libretto?" 

Julia  sat  alone  over  the  grate  long  after  her  friend  had 
retired.  I  cannot  tell  you  of  what  she  was  thinking,  but 
this  I  know,  that  after  that  night  no  one  ever  again  saw 
the  old  flashing  demands  in  Miss  Vosburgh's  eyes,  asking 
from  life  all  it  had  to  give.  There  were  only  a  few  who 
remarked  upon  the  change,  fewer  still  who  attempted  to 
analyze  it.  And  they  had  small  opportunity  to  do  so,  for 
in  the  early  spring  she  left  with  her  father  for  those  "  fair 
realms  beyond  the  sea,"  where,  as  the  years  passed,  th«re 
came  to  them  fitful  reports  of  how  the  young  American 
authoress  was  winning  her  way  to  the  fairest  heights  in 
the  land  she  loved.  For  "Julee"  had  reckoned  vainly 
upon  the  taint  in  her  blood  to  see  her  safely  out  of  life's 
troubles.  The  proud,  passionate  heart  beat  on,  notwith- 


28o  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

standing  its  cruel  pain,  and  had  Cheston  read  her  books 
of  later  years  he  had  not  denied  her  the  poet's  countersign. 
Beautiful,  gay,  and  cheerful  to  her  life's  end, — not  a  long 
life, — its  vitality  was  too  intense  for  longevity;  the  proud 
young  descendant  of  the  Salon  accepted  life's  lesson,  as 
that  other  Julee  had  done  before  her,  none  the  less  bravely 
that  its  rewards  awaited  a  future  development,  concerning 
which  our  "Julee"  had  come  to  cherish  a  livelier  convic- 
tion than  in  those  old  days  when,  beneath  the  trees  at  Rock 
Enon,  she  had  shuddered  at  the  mention  of  the  grave,  and 
had  accepted  Lorenzo's  creed  as  the  only  one  worth  adopt- 
ing. And  for  Love  she  had  substituted  Truth,  which,  with 
the  bold  courage  of  her  nature,  she  wielded  like  the  good 
sword  Gram  of  the  Neibelungenlied,  the  sword  that  cuts 
through  the  finest  wool. 

A  paragraph  under  the  head  of  personals  was  widely  dis- 
tributed among  the  city  papers  the  ensuing  week.  It  was 
headed  "Truth  Stranger  than  Fiction,"  and  ran  thus: 

"A  most  romantic  history  has  come  to  light  in  our 
midst.  Mr.  Cheston,  fast  becoming  noted  as  one  of  our 

leading  maestri,  whose  music-rooms  are  on Street, 

has,  by  the  most  remarkable  concatenation  of  events, 
been  identified  as  the  only  son  of  Robert  Cheswick,  Esq., 

whose  grandfather  was  one  of  the  pioneer  settlers  of 

County,  Maryland.  The  story  runs  that  Mr.  Cheswick, 
alias  Cheston,  when  a  mere  lad,  was  inveigled  into  a 
quarrel  with  his  father's  ward,  and  in  a  scuffle  which  en- 
sued left  him  stunned  and  bleeding  in  a  field  near  the 
house,  and  fled  under  the  delusion  that  he  had  killed 
him.  It  was  at  the  presentation  of  his  opera,  '  In  Sancho 
Panza's  Pit,' — libretto  written  by  Miss  Vosburgh,  the 
author  of  'Alida,' — that  he  recognized  in  the  principal 
actor,  M.  Homay,  the  man  whom  he  had  left  for  dead 


AT  LAST  I  281 

near  his  father's  house  so  many  years  ago.  The  denote- 
ment must  have  been  startling  in  the  extreme ;  and  just 
here  it  strikes  us  that  the  title  of  the  opera  may  very  well 
be  applied  to  the  remarkable  position  he  has  occupied  for 
so  many  years.  Surely  only  a  very  strong  and  courageous 
nature  could  have  held  out  against  such  desperate  odds. 
And  yet  he  not  only  endured,  but  won  his  way  to  a 
substantial  and  growing  success  as  a  musical  educator. 
The  descendant  of  the  Maryland  Cheswicks  needs  no 
voucher  wherever  the  name  is  heard,  but  this  one,  who, 
we  are  informed,  is  next  to  the  last  of  his  line,  may 
claim  one  on  the  most  enduring  and  honorable  basis, — 
steady  courage,  conscientious  endeavor,  and  persistent 
determination  in  the  face  of  opposing  forces  that  might 
easily  have  daunted  the  bravest." 

Cheston  showed  that  to  Miss  Vosburgh  with  a  serio- 
comic smile.  "Your  friend,  Mrs.  Herndon,  will  reap  some 
deserved  indemnity  here  for  her  generosity  towards  me  on 
a  former  occasion,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  how  proud  you  are  !"  cried  "  Julee." 

"But  you,"  he  took  her  two  hands  and  kissed  them 
almost  reverently,  "you  never  asked  for  a  voucher ! 
My  noble  friend,  how  can  I  ever  thank  you?" 

"Who  wants  thanks?"  she  cried,  drawing  her  hands 
from  his  grasp.  "  And  for  obligations,  I  think  we  are 
not  at  odds.  You  have  done  for  me  all  that  I  have  done 
for  you."  In  the  bright  dark  eyes  were  tears;  he  had 
never  seen  them  there  before.  "You  have  given  me 
the  poet's  countersign,"  she  said  in  her  heart,  though 
only  to  her  heart  did  she  make  that  confession,  and,  oddly 
enough,  the  bruised  beating  thing  felt  somewhat  eased 
thereby. 

One  scene  more  and  we  end  this  chapter.  Cheston  had 
24* 


282  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

assembled  his  class  for  the  last  time.  The  lessons  given, 
conscientiously,  painstakingly,  as  usual,  he  proceeded  to 
explain  to  them  why,  for  a  time  at  least,  he  must  dis- 
band them.  "  My  father  is  old  and  diseased  ;  I  have  not 
seen  him  in  many  years.  If  the  time  ever  comes  when  he 
can  spare  me,  or  if  I  can  induce  him  to  return  with  me, 
I  shall  come  back  and  resume  the  old  lessons  just  where 
we  left  off." 

The  faces  of  his  class  wore  very  serious  expressions. 
How  should  they  fill  his  place  ?  The  most  of  them  were 
too  poor  to  avail  themselves  of  professors'  prices.  It  was 
a  noble  work  he  had  started  in  this  unpretentious  bottega, 
that  of  rendering  music  available  to  the  masses;  and 
his  music,  the  written  scores  that  had  won  him  so 
much  fame,  were  dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  people  because 
not  above  their  peculiar  needs.  There  were  plenty  of 
his  profession,  men  with  Conservatory  prizes,  who  dealt 
in  mysterious  harmonies  only  adapted  to  the  cultured 
Few ;  but  to  the  uncultured  Many  this  man  had  striven 
to  make  music  a  great  vox  humana,  at  the  same  time  pre- 
serving the  delicate  first  principles  pure  and  simple. 

As  he  talked  in  farewell  to  his  class,  Doctor  Duncan 
entered,  followed  by  some  people, — not  patrons,  it  was 
too  late  for  that, — two  ladies  and  a  gentleman.  Cheston 
gave  his  class  a  parting  adieu  and  turned  to  his  guests. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Chester?  Why,  my  lad,  I 
haven't  changed  like  you." 

Know  him  !  and  the  black-eyed  little  woman  at  his 
side,  and  the  pale,  serene-eyed  face  of  the  lady  on  his 
arm, — no  other  surely  than  the  white  angel  of  his  fevered 
fancies. 

"My  poor  lad!  and  you  never  used  the  reference  I 
gave  you,  after  all !"  Then  Captain  Hollis  drew  out  his 
handkerchief,  and  walked  over  to  the  window,  where,  in- 


AT  LAST!  283 

stead  of  using  it  upon  his  rather  prominent  nasal  append- 
age, he  fell  vigorously  to  polishing  a  corner  of  the  win- 
dow-pane. 

"  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere  in  the  world,  for 
you  can't  dye  your  eyes,  if  you  can  your  hair!"  cried 
Milly,  who  had  never  seen  the  disguising  effect  of  a  pair 
of  violet-tinted  "  lunettes. " 

"And  I  know  at  last  all  that  you  have  suffered,  my 
boy,"  said  the  pale-faced  lady  whom  he  had  called  Miss 
Sinclair.  "It  is  a  hard,  but  I  doubt  not  a  just  law  that 
the  iniquities  of  the  father  shall  be  visited  upon  the  heads 
of  the  children."  And  as  she  spoke  there  was  the  old 
pain  as  of  memory  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

"FORGIVE  ME!" 

"  His  old  bewildered  head  withdrew, 

And  grasped  his  arm,  and  looked  and  looked  him  through  and  through; 
'  'Twas  strange  .  .  .  the  long,  the  doubtful  scrutiny  to  view. 
At  last  delight  o'er  all  his  features  stole : 
'  It  is  my  own !'  he  cried,  and  clasped  him  to  his  soul." 

Gertrude  of  Wyoming. 

MR.  CHESWICK  sat  in  the  library  of  his  big  house  in  the 
Square,  dressed  more  carefully  than  his  wont,  for  Amy 
was  coming  home,  and  Miss  Bab  had  said  would  bring 
company  with  her.  The  landscape  in  oils  that  had 
been  brought  from  Cheswick  was  undergoing  a  regild- 
ing  at  the  hands  of  the  sunset,  some  gleams  of  which 
came  filtering  in  through  the  flowers  in  Amy's  window, 
as  he  called  the  bow.  The  old  man  leaned  back  in  his 
cushioned  chair  and  inhaled  the  fragrance  of  the  helio- 
trope with  a  keen  sense  of  delight  therein,  that  seemed 
to  have  come  to  him  in  compensation,  as  it  were,  for  his 
wasted  powers  of  manhood.  Miss  Bab  and  Jacob  Martin 
had  never  known  such  gentleness  of  eye  and  tone  as  were 
habitual  to  him  now.  His  Bible  was  on  the  reading-desk 
attached  to  the  arm  of  his  chair.  He  found  in  its  pages 
a  solace  and  comfort  for  pain  and  trouble  that  he  had 
not  gathered  from  all  the  philosophies  of  the  schools.  It 
was  a  cup  of  cold  sparkling  water  for  lips  that  were  well- 
nigh  famished,  an  atonement  offered  for  a  life  that  came 
near  to  being  hopeless,  a  rest  prepared  for  limbs  that  were 
weary  and  crippled  with  pain,  a  rich  fund  of  promise 
284 


"FORGIVE    ME!"  285 

for  a  soul  that  had  recklessly  scattered  all  its  treasures  of 
human  love  and  sympathy.  As  he  sat  there,  with  the 
silvery  hair  growing  very  thin  on  the  temples  combed 
neatly  back  from  his  forehead,  with  his  palsied  hands 
lying  peacefully  in  his  lap,  with  that  placid  expression 
of  patient  waiting  on  his  features,  how  little  he  looked  a 
man  who  had  nursed  revenge  to  the  exclusion  of  all  higher 
impulses,  and  sacrificed  the  strength  of  his  manhood  to 
his  passions !  He  sat  in  the  quiet  room  and  reviewed  his 
past.  Always  when  the  fire  in  the  grate  burned  low  and 
the  flowers  sent  out  subtle  wafts  of  fragrance,  and  the  sound 
of  his  own  breathing  was  all  that  stirred  the  stillness  of 
the  room,  he  was  wont  to  resort  to  his  unquiet  and  ill- 
spent  past.  Was  it  the  power  of  contrast  that  carried  his 
thoughts  backward  ? 

He  thought  of  the  first  love  of  his  youth,  that  butterfly- 
girl,  who  had  been  deluded  with  vain  stories  of  pomp  and 
display  into  flinging  his  life  purposes  away  with  her 
thoughtless  hands.  How  he  had  hated  her  then,  and 
hated  all  womanhood  in  her  name !  Now  in  this  calm  even- 
ing light  of  his  life,  that  gave  to  all  things  its  true  colors, 
he  could  conceive  how  the  heart  of  the  girl  might  have 
been  only  thoughtless,  not  cruel,  for  she  was  very  young  ; 
and  here  an  old  rhyme  flitted  through  his  brain,  causing 
a  smile  to  quiver  over  the  placidity  of  his  features : 
"  Maidens,  like  moths,  are  ever  caught  by  glare  "  Then 
there  came  before  his  mental  vision  the  picture  of  his 
wife,  the  woman  he  had  taken  to  promote  the  state  of 
Cheswick.  Illy  she  bore  it,  poor,  meek  soul,  gaining  as 
reward  for  her  long-suffering  patience  the  slow  pain  of 
a  broken  heart.  Next  in  this  shadow-pageant  came 
Cedric,  the  bright-eyed  boy  she  bore  him,  of  whom  he  had 
been  so  proud,  even  while,  unconsciously,  he  had  steeled 
his  heart  against  him.  And,  lastly,  Rabys  Holme,  in  the 


286  IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 

shape  of  his  revenge.  Ah,  it  was  but  just  that  he  should 
live  to  reap  the  fruits  of  his  wrongdoing  ! 

When  Miss  Bab  came  in  she  found  him  reading  his 
Bible.  She  too  had  an  air  of  expectancy  about  her,  and 
wore  the  cap  and  dress  generally  used  for  state  occasions. 
But  she  had  not  her  brother's  placid  ease  of  countenance 
and  posture. 

Jacob  Martin  came  in  shortly  after  and  stationed  him- 
self behind  his  master's  chair.  There  was  a  very  intelli- 
gent glance  exchanged  between  him  and  Miss  Bab.  She 
got  up  presently,  and  went  out  quietly  by  the  door  lead- 
ing into  the  hall,  but  a  casual  observer  might  have  detected 
the  sudden  pallor  on  her  face,  and  she  dropped  in  the 
first  chair  in  her  way,  like  one  whose  limbs  had  failed 
her.  From  the  open  drawing-room  door  darted  Amy, 
muffled  in  fur,  her  face  glowing  with  complex  expressions. 

"  Have  you  told  him,  auntie?  does  he  know  ?" 

The  poor  old  lady  lifted  her  withered  hands  to  her  face. 
"I  could  not,"  she  sobbed;  "  I  was  afraid  of  a  stroke. 
You  must  tell  him  yourself."  But  she  had  no  breath 
for  more,  for  her  "boy"  had  his  arms  around  her, — de- 
spite his  brown  hair  and  whiskers,  "  her  own  dear  blessed 
boy!" 

Amy  flew  across  the  hall  and  into  the  library.  Her 
uncle  was  still  bending  over  his  Bible. 

He  looked  up  as  the  light  step  drew  near.  "  Why, 
Amy,  my  child  !" 

But  this  was  altogether  a  new  Amy  that  had  come  back 
to  him.  There  was  no  shadow  on  the  sweet  face,  nothing 
but  happiness  shining  through  the  tears  in  her  brown 
eyes. 

"  Uncle,  are  you  very  well  this  evening?  Can  you  bear 
great  joy  ?  Say,  uncle,  do  you  think  you  can  bear  to  hear 
what  has  happened?" 


"FORGIVE  MET  287 

He  pushed  his  spectacles  nearer  his  eyes,  and  looked  at 
her  wonderingly,  his  palsied  hands  shaking  more  than 
their  wont.  "What  is  it,  child?  Have  you  heard  from 
him  ?  Is  he  alive  ?"  It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  eager  look 
on  that  withered  face. 

"  O  uncle,  don  '/  let  it  make  you  ill !  try  to  bear  it,  for 
I  must  tell  you  :  he  is  here  /" 

11  Here!  Jacob  Martin  !"  The  muffled  tones  rose  high; 
he  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  his  sunken  blue  eyes  gleaming. 
"  Help  me  on  my  feet !  Rick !  Rick,  my  boy  !"  The 
voice  so  long  slow  and  uncertain  gained  a  wonderful 
strength  and  distinctness  in  that  wild,  appealing  cry. 

And  he  who  answered  its  summons,  what  did  he  see  ? 
A  withered,  emaciated  old  man,  held  by  the  arms  of  Jacob 
Martin  upon  limbs  that  bent  and  quivered  beneath  him, 
instead  of  the  strong,  unyielding  figure  he  remembered, 
leonine  in  its  proportions  as  those  marble  shapes  of  the 
Grecian  athletes  that  one  sees  in  Old  World  galleries. 
"O  father,  forgive  me!" 

The  tremulous  old  arms  were  around  his  neck,  the 
white-locked  head  on  his  breast.  "  Forgive  me,  my  boy  ! 
God  knows  you  have  need!" 

In  those  strong  arms  he  felt  himself  borne  back  to  the 
bolstering  cushions  of  his  chair,  and  then  between  his 
feeble  hands  he  held  the  face  of  his  son,  and  looked  into 
the  wide  blue  eyes,  so  like  his  mother's,  and  kissed  his 
lips  gently,  lovingly,  as  his  mother  might  have  done, 
while  Amy  over  in  her  window  among  the  flowers, 
that  had  never  bloomed  so  royally  before,  wept  from 
such  heartfelt  gratitude  and  joy  as  it  falls  to  few  to 
know  in  this  life.  And  old  Jacob  Martin,  behind  his 
master's  chair,  could  not  see  the  features  of  the  lad 
he  had  loved  and  mourned  so  honestly  for  the  tears  that 
ran  down  his  weather-beaten  cheeks. 


288  IN  SANCHO  PANZAS  PIT. 

Amanda,  coming  up  for  orders  from  Miss  Bab  relative 
to  supper,  stopped  aghast  in  the  library-door.  Was  that 
the  master  praying,  talking  to  God  as  one  talks  to  a  familiar 
friend  ?  and  Miss  Amy  was  over  by  the  flowers  kneeling, 
and  Miss  Bab  was  kneeling,  even  her  Jacob  was  kneeling, — 
and  who  was  that  broad-shouldered  man  with  his  head  on 
the  arm  of  the  squire's  chair? 

"  For  all  that  Thou  hast  done  for  us,  O  God,  for  the 
ways  that  seemed  so  dark,  we  thank  Thee.  And  that  Thou 
will  bring  us  all  to  meet  his  mother  in  Heaven,  we  beg 
for  Thy  dear  Son's  sake.  Amen  !" 

"  Oh,  it  is  Mr.  Rick  !  Lord  love  his  heart !  It  is  Mr. 
Rick  come  back  safe  an'  sound!"  cried  the  faithful  old 
Abigail,  weeping  like  a  child. 

Well,  Aunt  Bab  had  no  right  to  complain  of  inertia  that 
evening.  Such  a  supper  as  she  helped  Amanda  to  set  in 
the  dining-room,  from  whence  Mrs.  Giles  had  been  ban- 
ished long  ago  !  And  such  creamy  rich  brown  Mocha  as 
she  sent  around  the  table  from  her  post  behind  the  urn  ! 
The  years  were  all  obliterated  from  Miss  Bab's  memory  ; 
he  was  still  her  boy,  who  loved  peach  marmalade  and 
cream  and  Maryland  biscuit  and  cottage  cheese,  and  did 
not  think  any  one  lived  who  could  slice  tongue  so  fine 
and  thin  as  she  !  And  Rick  tried  to  gratify  the  dear  old 
soul  by  tasting  all  her  dainties  and  giving  her  occasion- 
ally one  of  his  old  saucy  smiles  and  teasing  remarks,  but 
how  could  he  feel  like  eating  or  jesting,  on  this  first  night 
of  his  home-coming,  to  find  his  father  so  wan  and  faded, 
with  that  new  light  of  meekness  in  his  sunken  blue  eyes. 
It  was  what  the  blessing  of  ease  is  to  the  pain-racked,  fever- 
haunted  sufferer,  or  the  harbor  after  the  tempestuous  sea 
to  the  sailor  who  had  lost  all  hope  of  reaching  land,  this 
being  home  again,  but  as  the  sufferer  bears  constant 
reminder  of  his  pain  in  the  weary  hand  and  voice,  so 


"FORGIVE   ME!"  289 

even  this  moment  of  supreme  exaltation  bore  its  comple- 
ment of  unrest  in  the  keen  fear  that  smote  him  lest  the 
days  in  which  he  was  to  know  the  full  measure  of  a 
father's  devotion  were  already  numbered. 

After  tea,  between  the  twilight  and  the  dark,  Cedric 
told  his  story,  sitting  close  to  his  father,  with  Aunt  Bab 
and  Amy  on  either  side.  There  were  many  tears  shed 
over  it,  and  not  a  few  fell  on  the  bolstering  cushions  of  the 
arm-chair. 

"They  are  together  now,  you  say, — Rabys  Holme  and 
his  mother?"  his  father  asked  when  he  had  finished,  and 
they  all  sat  silent  in  the  flower-scented  apartment,  quite 
dark  now,  except  from  the  flickering  light  of  the 
fire. 

"Yes,  father,  though  I  fear  she  finds  scant  comfort  in 
him,  and  her  last  words  to  me  were  that  it  was  a  hard  law, 
but  doubtless  a  just  one,  that  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers 
should  be  visited  upon  the  children." 

And  Amy  asked,  "Was  her  husband  a  very  bad  man, 
uncle?" 

The  old  man  groaned,  and  Miss  Bab  was  discreetly 
silent ;  so  they  never  knew  the  fatal  sin  that  had  been 
visited  upon  the  heads  of  the  children  who  had  lived 
together  in  the  old  Hall  at  Cheswick, — the  sin  of  betrayal, 
that  engendered  the  yet  more  culpable  sin  of  revenge; 
for  "Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,  and  I  will 
repay. ' ' 

"You  have  been  in  a  pit,  my  lad,"  said  his  father,  when 
he  bade  him  good-night,  doing  so  with  lingering  lips,  the 
strong  bearded  face  of  his  son  was  so  new  to  him,  and  he 
almost  feared  to  let  it  slip  from  his  vision,  lest  he  should 
wake  and  find  it  a  dream;  "in  a  pit  indeed,  and  so 
have  I,  for  that  matter, — a  far  deeper  one  than  yours ! 
Thank  God  that  the  daylight  has  come  to  us  both !  late 

25 


290 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


to  me, — a  sunset  ray,  that  barely  gives  me  time  to  get 
home,"  with  a  feeble,  wistful  smile;  "but  for  you  it  is 
scarcely  noonday,  and  you  may  shape  your  life  on  the 
lesson  you  have  learned." 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

FRUITION. 

"  O  dream  of  joy  !  is  this  indeed 

The  light-house  top  I  see? 
Is  this  the  hill  ?  is  this  the  kirk? 
Is  this  mine  own  countree?" 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. 

IT  was  the  eve  of  a  lovely  spring  day.  A  balmy  air 
was  afloat,  redolent  of  spring  odors ;  a  pink-and-gold  sun- 
set filtered  its  glories  of  light  and  shade  over  the  country 
road  and  long  sweep  of  meadow-lands.  Two  carriages 
bowled  down  the  white  turnpike  towards  the  cliffs,  the 
first  driven  carefully  by  a  stalwart  coachman,  its  occu- 
pants a  white-haired  old  gentleman,  looking  sadly  wearied, 
and  a  lady  prim  and  erect,  with  little  silvery  side-curls 
protruding  from  her  bonnet-border.  The  second  was  a 
pony-phaeton  drawn  by  dappled  grays.  A  gentleman 
held  the  reins  loosely  over  the  ponies'  necks,  and  looked 
about  him  with  exclamations  of  delight.  The  light  on 
his  face  was  not  borrowed  from  the  radiant  tints  of  the 
sunset.  A  lady  sat  by  his  side,  very  sweet  and  fair, 
though  her  beauty  was  so  veiled  by  the  mist  of  tears  that 
it  is  well  we  have  not  to  judge  of  it  now  for  the  first 
time.  The  cliffs  rose  high  and  green  in  front  of  them ; 
the  wheels  grated  upon  the  sandy  road  ;  the  waters  of  the 
creek  shone  green  in  the  distance,  and  the  white  dust 
from  the  burrs  floated  out  over  the  horses'  heads  as  the 
carriages  passed  the  old  mill  and  turned  into  the  rugged 

291 


292 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


road,  between  the  rows  of  jagged  pines  that  fringed  the 
cliffs,  and  the  white  oaks  bending  low  down  to  the  water's 
edge  on  the  other  side.  A  single  turn  of  the  horses' 
heads,  and  from  the  wilderness  of  dark -green  banks  and 
rushing  waters  they  emerged  upon  a  level  plateau  that 
bordered  the  terraced  grounds  of  a  noble  building, — a 
brave  old  mansion  standing  at  the  top  of  the  plateau, 
glimmering  unsteadily  now  through  the  glamour  of  tears 
in  the  eyes  of  the  carriage  occupants,  even  in  those  keen 
black  ones  between  the  spruce  gray  curls. 

"  Welcome  home,  my  wife  !  a  thousand  welcomes  to 
Cheswick  !"  and  as  he  spoke  the  gentleman  lifted  the 
lovely  lady  out  upon  the  broad  steps  of  the  stone  portico, 
then  went  over  to  where  the  old  man  leaned  tired  and 
pale  among  the  carriage  cushions. 

"Well,  father,"  and  the  strong  manly  tones  were  very 
tender,  "is  not  this  worth  coming  a  long  way  to  see  ?  Dear 
old  Cheswick,  there  never  was  such  another  superb  old 
place  !  Now,  put  your  arm  around  my  neck ;  there  ! 
Steady,  Jacob  !  Never  fear,  father,  I  will  carry  you  safely. 
Run  ahead,  Amy,  and  see  that  the  easy-chair  is  all  right  in 
the  library.  Now,  Aunt  Bab,  one  of  Amanda's  famous 
suppers,  and  we  will  soon  have  father  rested." 

To  the  great  crimson  library  his  boy  carried  him,  where 
so  long  ago  he  had  leaped  from  the  window  to  the  flower- 
bed outside,  declaring  that  a  man  need  not  starve  in  the 
world  because  God  had  given  him  an  unjust  father.  How 
homelike  it  looked  and  how  comfortable  !  Ah,  God  was 
very  good  to  give  him  back  his  son,  and  to  bring  him  back 
once  more  to  the  old  home  of  his  forefathers. 

After  tea  Amanda  stole  down  to  the  little  cottage  in  the 
grounds  where  lodged  the  gardener  and  his  wife.  "  It  was 
the  sweetest  weddin'  you  ever  heern  tell  of!"  she  cried, 
out  of  breath  with  the  rapid  walk  through  the  grounds. 


FRUITION. 


293 


"  Not  a  great  fuss,  you  know,  'cause  Miss  Amy  ain't  one  o' 
that  sort,  but  very  harnsome  for  all.  They  was  married  in 
the  liberry,  and  Miss  Amy  wore  white  satin  and  a  veil. 
I  guess  she'll  show  it  to  you,  ef  you'd  like  to  see  it, — the 
dress  and  veil,  I  mean  ;  an'  there  was  flowers  everywhere. 
They  had  a  very  fine  brekfust.  I  ought  to  know,  for  I  was 
in  the  wurks.  Then  they  went  on  a  toor,  but  they  didn't 
stay  long;  t' Squire  hates  Mr.  Rick  out  o'  his  sight.  They 
went  up  to  Wisconsin  or  Michigan,  along  o'  some  copper- 
mines  up  there  Mr.  Rick  knows  about.  And  now  we've 
come  to^heswick  for  the  summer,  tho'  we  don't  calker- 
late  to  stay  no  longer  unless  t' Squire  keeps  feeble.  Mr. 
Rick's  goin"  to  New  York,  'cause  he  says  he's  got  work 
to  do  in  this  world,  and  he  seen  somethin'  to  be  done 
there  more'n  here." 

********* 

They  stood  arm  in  arm  by  the  low  window  of  the  old 
long  parlor,  looking  out  upon  the  grounds  of  Cheswick, 
never  so  fair  as  to-night  under  the  full  irradiating  light  of 
a  silver  moon, — shadow  and  shine,  from  the  solid  phalanx 
of  the  noble  forest-trees  to  the  graceful  tremulous  line  of 
the  honeysuckles  on  the  lattices,  shooting  past  the  Ches- 
wick chimneys.  Every  leaf  and  tiny  twig  seemed  alive, 
pulsating  in  the  evening  air  and  dew.  They  stood 
together  looking  out  upon  the  old  familiar  scene,  and  the 
old  time  seemed  to  come  back  and  exist  anew  for  them. 
Out  there  under  the  mulberry  the  shadows  lay  just  as  they 
had  lain  when  they  two  had  read  the  fables  of  the  poets 
in  the  green  stillnesses  of  their  Academia.  And  she  stood 
by  him  now,  as  then,  the  soft-eyed,  sweet-voiced  creature, 
whose  nature  was  all  akin  with  his  own,  for  whose  sweet 
sympathy  and  love  he  had  refused  a  career  in  the  world? 
a  single  distraction  of  mind  or  matter  that  would  rob 
him  of  her  presence  for  a  day. 


294 


IN  SANCHO  PANZA'S  PIT. 


Ah,  with  that  thought  the  present  stood  revealed  as 
something  quite  different  from  the  past.  Not  long  had 
his  life  owned  such  completeness ;  not  long  had  his  arms 
held  her  against  his  heart  so  closely.  For  that  reckless 
pursuance  of  his  own  pleasure,  that  presumptuous  belief 
in  his  own  power  to  shape  his  future  he  had  paid  a  heavy 
penalty.  But  he  had  learned  how  little  the  heart  can  live 
upon,  and  how  unyielding  is  life  even  when  most  hope- 
less. 

The  soft  eyes  looking  out  upon  the  moonlit  grounds 
turned  to  him  questioningly.  In  the  unconscious  press- 
ure of  the  arm  about  her  waist  she  read  a  sign  of  keener 
emotion  than  the  beauty  of  his  inheritance  has  aroused 
within  him. 

"I  was  thinking,  my  darling,  that  never  again  should  I 
be  able  to  deceive  myself  regarding  the  germ  of  endurance 
that  is  planted  in  humanity.  I  was  thinking  that  it  is 
worse  than  folly  to  ascribe  to  fate,  destiny,  God,  if  you 
will,  the  thwarted  endeavors  of  our  own  lives,  for  to  the 
man  who  wills  all  things  are  possible  within  the  compass 
of  reason  and  common  sense." 

"And  to  the  man  who  believes,  all  things,  even  what 
human  nature  calls  impossibilities,  are  within  the  compass 
of  human  endeavor !" 

"To  the  man  who  believes?" 

"  In  the  efficacy  of  God's  hidden  and  revealed  agency 
to  work  us  weal  or  woe  as  we  deserve  either.  You  of  all 
men  have  reason  to  understand  that." 

He  touched  his  lips  to  her  brow  almost  reverently,  for 
to  him  her  simple  faith  was  a  wonderful  thing,  bearing 
the  impress  of  its  divine  origin. 

Then  they  drifted  from  the  present  into  talk  of  the  future 
as  they  stood  there.  He  unfolded  his  plans  for  her  ap- 
proval. If  his  father  lived  and  was  willing  they  would 


FRUITION. 


295 


go  back  to  New  York  in  the  autumn,  and  he  would  con- 
tinue the  work  he  had  started  there, — the  work  of  carrying 
the  divine  art  of  music  home  to  the  hearts  of  the  masses  ; 
missionaries  in  that  broad  field  where,  as  the  great  deaf 
master  had  said,  one  is  "  nearer  to  God  than  in  any  other 
art." 

Amy  turned  from  the  window  at  last  and  drew  him 
gently  over  to  where  the  organ  had  stood  so  long  silent, 
and  as  she  stood  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  drink- 
ing in  with  keen  delight  the  eager,  grateful  strains,  and 
as  he  felt  the  sins  and  sorrows  of  the  past  drop  from  him 
as  a  garment,  and  gratitude  spring  up  anew  in  his  heart 

"To  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
Who  made  and  loveth  all," 

they  did  not  know  either  of  them  how  in  the  chamber  above 
the  tired,  white-haired  old  man,  awakened  from  a  restless 
slumber  by  those  harmonious  strains,  reached  out  his 
feeble  hands  with  a  quivering  heavy  sigh,  as  a  child  to 
its  mother,  and  relinquished  with  a  smile  the  life  that 
had  been  so  mistaken,  so  barren  of  fair  fruit,  but  which, 
because  it  had  known  repentance,  was  not  to  fail  of  frui- 
tion hereafter.  Just  so  merciful  is  our  tender  Father  to 
His  erring,  wayward  children  ! 


THE    END. 


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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


Otocrl8I99s 

MAY  031993 


